‘The horses need a rest,’ the coachman called down. ‘Good a place as any to change them.’
Henri peeked out through the window. A steady rain had begun to fall. A warm light shone through the darkness and an inn sign creaked in the wind.
‘We stop here for the night.’ Robert rapped on the top of the carriage, signalling to the coachman.
‘Are we in Jedburgh?’ Henri asked, stretching slightly. Jedburgh would be fine. They could start looking for Sophie. She wouldn’t have to think about the temptation of spending a night in an inn. ‘Your carriage is much swifter than my aunt’s, I will grant you that.’
‘No,’ Robert said, gathering his greatcoat around him. He seemed remoter than ever. ‘The horses are tired and there is little point in travelling further tonight. Grace has been complaining about feeling ill.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ the little maid said. ‘I’m not a good traveller. I only need a few moments of fresh air. After that…’
Henri sat up straight and tried not to think about an anonymous inn with white linen sheets. Only this morning, it would have been a godsend, but now everything was conspiring against her. She glanced at the maid and saw a single tear dripped down her cheek. Robert was right. Grace wasn’t well. It was one of the things she admired about him. He did think about servants as if they were people instead of objects. ‘I thought we were travelling until we caught up with Sebastian. We agreed.’
‘Your cousin likes his creature comforts. It’s late and this is an excellent inn. I’ve stayed here on business before. As we have not caught up with Sophie before night fell, they will be marrying with my blessing and in a proper church.’
Her heart sank as she remembered the frying pan. Sophie had meant to send a message, but what sort of message and why hadn’t she simply stayed at the house? Somehow, she had to find Sophie before Robert did and find out what had truly happened, what Sophie actually wanted. Then she could decide what was best…when she had all the facts. ‘We could go on…after Grace has a breath of fresh air.’
‘Why are you intent on proving how strong and capable you are? I can see you’re exhausted.’ His hand stroked her cheek. It was all she could do not to lean into the touch. The desire to be held in his embrace nearly overwhelmed her. ‘We both will need our strength. You can sleep in the carriage, but I guarantee that the beds in the inn will be softer.’
* * *
Henri watched Grace’s steady breath. The little maid had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow in the dressing room.
Henri had refused all offers of help from the innkeeper’s wife, insisting on looking after Grace. Concentrating on Grace was supposed to be an antidote to the growing anticipation in her stomach. Robert had procured private rooms for both of them.
The worst part was that, thinking about how Robert had accused her several hours later, she knew she could have made the same mistake. Superficially she could see why, but she didn’t understand how he’d made the mistake and she wanted to understand. She wanted to go back to that easy friendship they had had before, but it seemed impossible. She’d never had to forgive Edmund for anything except dying.
The feelings that were coursing through her were far too new. And she was lonely without him. The future without Robert was a bleak prospect. Was Robert right? Was it only her pride that was hurt?
‘How’s the patient?’ Robert asked from the doorway. His hair flopped over his forehead and tiredness etched his face.
‘Asleep. I gave her a sleeping draught.’ Henri schooled her features and held up her bag. If she kept the conversation on Grace, he’d never guess her thoughts and desires. She wasn’t ready to open herself up to more hurt. ‘I came prepared. I’ve no idea of the state Sophie will be in. Poor Grace. Her head pained her. No doubt the day’s events overcame her. She couldn’t have continued on. You were right to stop. I wish I’d seen it earlier.’
‘You’re admitting that you were wrong. Is this a first, Thorndike?’
She concentrated on the coverlet and winced. ‘I’m not perfect. I know how imperfect I am, but it doesn’t stop me trying. Far easier to look after someone than give in to self-pity.’
‘You always think of others.’ He didn’t move from the doorway. ‘Now it’s time for someone to think about you. You need to eat, Henri.’
‘I will survive. I had muffins for tea with Aunt Frances.’
‘It’d be a shame to let the light supper the innkeeper’s wife has prepared go to waste. I had her lay a table in your room.’
The merest mention of food was enough to set her stomach rumbling. She pressed her hand against her gown.
‘I was going to sit beside Grace.’
‘You need to eat. I insist.’
‘Do you?’
‘Someone has to look after you.’ His eyes danced. ‘You weren’t made for martyrdom, but you seem intent on trying for it. No one will think better of you if you stay here.’
He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. The warmth radiated throughout her body. She looked up into the shifting browns in his eyes, teetered and knew she was lost.
‘You shouldn’t have. I can look after myself.’
‘It’s what makes it so much fun.’ He gave a half-smile.
‘I asked the innkeeper’s wife to make enough for two. You can watch me eat if you like, but you will take a look at it. There is a meat pie.’
His fingers closed around her arm and he led her from the small room to a much larger one. As he promised, a cold supper with salads and a variety of pies and a jug of wine was laid out in front of a small crackling fire. She also noticed the four-poster bed hung with dark blue velvet curtains and piled high with pillows, a feather bed and white linen sheets. Her hand gripped her reticule until the beaded pattern dug into her palm as she remembered his earlier promise. It would be easy to turn in his arms and demand he take her to bed. Even the thought made her breath catch.
‘Shall we eat? I’m ravenous,’ she said and advanced towards the food. Food to calm her nerves and dull her appetite. It was merely hunger that had given her this giddy feeling. ‘You are right. I am famished, but there is far too much for one.’
He gave her a speculative glance and she knew her cheeks slightly flamed, but she wasn’t ready to say goodnight. She wasn’t ready to be alone with her thoughts.
‘It would be wrong to waste a good meal after the innkeeper’s wife went to much trouble.’
‘Indeed it would.’
‘Well, then.’ She sat down and gave a nod towards the other chair. She could keep the topics on general subjects; when they were finished, she’d be able to bid him goodnight. She would demonstrate that she was immune to his charms. ‘Shall we begin?’
* * *
Halfway through supper, Robert covered her hand in his. ‘Now are you going to tell me why you are always insistent about looking after others? You are willing to make yourself ill if it means that others don’t suffer.’
Henri looked at her barely touched food and withdrew her hand. It would be far easier to tell him about such things than to speak about how much she wanted him. She had thought it was just hunger, but it was a different sort of hunger. She wanted to feel his lips against hers.
She took another sip of the wine and tried to concentrate on the fire.
‘I suppose it comes down to my mother.’ She began to explain about her mother and her sayings and how the only thing that was important when she was growing up was what her mother wanted. How her mother had needed constant attention and how it had driven her father away, and how she had learnt to manage.
He gave a nod, refilled her glass and motioned for her to continue.
She sneaked another look at the bed, and then back at him and how he looked in his shirt sleeves with his stock ever so slightly undone. She toyed with her piece of pie. There had to be a way of controlling her desire. ‘I suppose I ought to explain about Edmund.’
His hand froze in mid-air as he topped up her
glass of wine. The wine spilled over the edge before he recovered his composure. ‘Only if you want to.’
‘He understood me, you see. He had a lonely childhood as well. He was always getting sick and having trouble breathing.’ Henri looked over Robert’s shoulders towards the glowing coals. ‘He had the time to listen to my dreams and he was such a gentle person. When I was fourteen, he became seriously ill for the first time, but his guardian was far too busy. I decided to look after him. At sixteen I proposed. He refused me, but then when he saw how upset I was and how they were going to take me away, he relented and agreed to elope. He needed someone who cared about him, rather than just servants.’
‘What did he have?’
‘A weak chest. Each time he became ill, it went straight to his chest and he had trouble breathing. The night we eloped, it rained and he caught a cold. We had planned to go to Italy once he was well. The air is supposed to be better there for weak chests.’
‘But he didn’t get better.’
‘I tried and tried, but I don’t have Sophie’s knack for nursing. Every day, he seemed to get weaker. I wanted him to fight, but he told me that I had to fight for both of us.’ She hugged her arms about her waist as her stomach knotted in on itself. ‘The only day he ever became angry with me was the day he died. I had brought a vase of daffodils to brighten the room and show him how alive the world was. He thought I was mocking him. He accused me of wanting too much. I told him to stop lying there and to take an interest in life.’
‘You had words.’
‘An angry exchange. It was so unlike him. I flounced out of the room; by the time I returned, he had slipped away. No one should have to die alone, especially not someone like him.’ She put a hand to her head. ‘If I’d known. My last words to him were angry and bitter. He deserved better. I shortened his life. Everyone said so. You asked me earlier why I have a hard time forgiving. I never had to forgive Edmund anything except for dying.’
‘Hush.’ He came over to her then and raised her up from her seat. His arms went around her and held her. She gave a shuddering sigh and laid her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
His fingers lifted her chin. ‘Henri…’
She put her fingers to his lips. ‘So you see.’
‘What happened with you and your husband was fate. No one’s fault. I’ve seen men have horrible accidents and survive and others die over the most trivial of things. Nobody chooses the time of their death—it just is.’ His arms tightened about her. ‘And you can’t change it as much as you would sometimes like to. Neither can you blame yourself for not being somewhere. You can only look towards the future. Forgiving mistakes means you can be forgiven.’
Just is. The words echoed around her head and she knew he was speaking about his father’s death. And she couldn’t change that he wanted to protect his ward or that Sebastian had used her name. It just was. Tonight just was. ‘Maybe you are right.’
His fingers stroked her cheek, sending a promise of illicit pleasure pulsating throughout her body. ‘Trust me. Start living and stop blaming yourself for others’ misdeeds.’
‘I think I am overtired.’ She took a step backwards, away from the seductive safety of his body.
‘Shall I call the innkeeper’s wife to help you or shall I play the lady’s maid?’ A wicked smile tugged at his mouth as he leant forwards until they were nearly touching. His breath tickled her ear. ‘I do a passable imitation of a lady’s maid, Henri. All you have to do is ask.’
Her senses reeled. Tonight would be about them. Not about anyone else. It was about the here and now, rather than the past or the future. And if he left now, she knew that would be the end. They would never have another chance like this one and, despite everything, it wasn’t over between them. She wasn’t ready for it to end.
He was offering her the choice and she knew there was only one sensible answer. She took a deep breath and plunged into the sensual unknown.
‘Stay. I…I don’t want anyone else to help me.’
His arms came around her and she felt them work at the tiny buttons on the back of her gown. It gave way, exposing her back to his questing fingers.
‘All done,’ he whispered against her hair. His warm hand, kneading her bare shoulder. ‘Does the maid get thanked?’
She gazed up at him and wanted to drown in his eyes. She deliberately raised her mouth to his. ‘Yes.’
His lazy kiss swamped her senses. She stood luxuriating in the taste and texture of him. Slowly she thrust her tongue into his mouth, drinking deep, devouring and dining on the kiss that seemed to stretch for ever. A primitive craving grew within her and she knew it was not enough. She was greedy, a glutton for his touch. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. Needed it to satisfy her longing.
‘If you can play lady’s maid, I can play valet,’ she murmured against his mouth. ‘You are overdressed for this feast.’
He gave a soft laugh that rippled across her sensitive skin.
Henri’s fingers worked on the stock and, to her relief, she pulled it correctly. The length of cloth undid easily, leaving the strong column of his throat bare. She pressed her lips against it and felt his steady heartbeat thrumming.
Taking her time, she carefully undid the buttons of his waistcoat, pushed it off his shoulders and undid the buttons of his shirt front to reveal his smooth skin. She slipped her hand in, traced the outline of his nipples and heard the sudden intake of breath.
‘Insistent?’
‘Determined.’ She gave a shaky laugh and withdrew her hand. ‘There is a difference. Shall I stop?’
‘Never.’ He crushed her to him, possessively lowering his mouth and reclaiming hers. This time, his tongue ruthlessly plundered her mouth, penetrating deep until she was gripped in the unrelenting maelstrom of sensation.
His fingers trailed down her back, cupped her buttocks and pulled her close. Against the thin lawn of her petticoat, she could feel his rampant arousal, pressing into, moving against her, reminding her of their previous joining. Her body arched towards him, craving that intimate touch.
Slowly, he nibbled his lips downwards until he reached her breasts. His tongue flicked over them, turning them into hardened points. He suckled, sliding his tongue over and around them. She clung to his broad shoulders for support as wave after wave of delicious sensation washed over her.
‘Robert,’ she whispered when she knew her legs would no longer support her.
He scooped her up, strode across the room and deposited her on the gigantic four-poster bed in her room. The mattress and pillows moulded instantly to her shape. His fingers worked on the front buttons of her corset until it loosened. He gently opened it and pushed her combination down her shoulders and body until she lay naked in front of him. Suddenly she became shy, aware of what she flagrantly displayed, and her hands moved to cover herself. With one swoop, he caught her hands and moved them above her head. ‘Don’t even think about it. You are magnificent. Allow me to enjoy you. Please.’ She heard the raw note of begging in his voice.
She nodded and he let her go.
His fiery gaze roamed all over her, caressing her. She patted the soft mattress. ‘Are you coming in?’
‘Much more conducive to romance than the hard wooden floor,’ he said as, one by one, his remaining garments dropped to the floor until he stood, naked, skin gleaming in the firelight. Perfectly made with sculpted muscles and a line of hair that ran from his belly downwards to his erection. An explicit invitation. ‘Tonight is for lingering and enjoying.’
He knelt on the bed and swooped down so that his warm pliable skin touched hers. Covered her.
His fingers skimmed her shoulders, reached her breasts. Slowly and deliberately he traced the outline of her nipples before lowering his mouth to them. Taking each breast in turn, he suckled. Her back strained upwards as her sensitised skin flared with each new touch.
His fingers travelled down her belly inexorably to the apex of her thighs wh
ere they paused, hovered. With one finger he parted her folds and touched her.
He hooked both of her legs on his shoulders and his hot breath fanned her inner core, cooling her but making her ache at the same time. Then his mouth touched her, circled. Slid. Glided over her.
She gripped his shoulders as wave after wave crested inside her. She knew she should be shocked to have his mouth on her in that intimate way, but it felt right. Her world exploded into shards.
He slowly moved upwards and then his warm body covered her. She lay within the circle of his arms as the world righted itself. Then she pushed him so he went over on his back and she loomed above him.
‘My turn,’ she whispered.
Without waiting for an answer she slid her mouth over him, taking time to explore his nipples and the muscles of his chest. To her delight, she felt his body buck under her, strain to get closer to her. She ran her hand down the length of him, following his line of hair and then, reaching his thighs, she cupped him, holding his arousal in her hand. He groaned in the back of his throat.
Taking her time, she positioned herself over him and, lowering herself to meet his upward thrust, impaled her body.
With a single movement he entered and her body opened to meet him. For one glorious instant she stayed there, with him in her. Joined. Complete. Merged. This time her body instantly matched his rhythm. Together they moved, faster and faster. Soaring until the shattering came.
* * *
Satiated. Satisfied. Thoroughly spent. Robert looked down at Henri’s sleeping face. Her dark lashes made smudges on her porcelain face and he took a moment to enjoy the pleasure of watching her sleep. He ran a finger down the side of her face, and knew he wanted more than this. Already, he wanted her again and he knew he would go on wanting her while he had breath in his body.
It hit him then that he loved her, really and truly loved her. He wanted her in his life for the rest of time. He wanted to share every particle of his life with her. The thought shocked him and exhilarated him in the same breath. He hadn’t meant for it to happen and until it did, he’d been sceptical that it could happen. Logic dictated. He paused, his body shaking. Forget logic, this was Henri, and Henri required an entirely different way of thinking.
To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) Page 20