“Must we run?” she panted, as they got to the top of the stairs.
“Yes,” Henry replied. “I have a surprise for you, and I’ll burst if you don’t see it now.”
Florence laughed at the obvious excitement in his voice; he seemed like a boy on Christmas morning. They entered his bedroom, and he went at once to a large, red leather box on his bedside table.
“I had it sent down from London. It’s been there since I returned. It was being held by my bank for safekeeping, you see.”
He gave her a rather sheepish smile and passed the box to her.
“For me?” she asked, wondering what on earth he had locked up so carefully.
He nodded. “It was hidden away safely, where no one could see it or touch it, and it couldn’t come to any harm. Rather like my heart. But what is the point, Florence? Why have something so astonishingly beautiful, if you cannot see it and touch it and love it? It’s a risk, having it here, but I’d rather know that seeing it makes you happy, even if we lose it, and I’d rather give my heart to you than anyone else, for I know you’ll take care of it.”
“I will, Henry, I promise,” she said, her own heart beating very hard as she clutched the box to her chest. Suddenly it didn’t matter a whit what was in the box, only that Henry had trusted her with it.
“Open it, then.”
Florence unlatched the clasp of the box and lifted the lid. A gasp escaped her, the shock so profound she almost dropped it.
“Oh, my!”
Inside, nestled on a bed of white silk like blood upon snow, was the biggest gemstone she’d ever seen in her life.
Henry laughed, delighted by her reaction.
“A ruby, almost as big as a hen’s egg,” she said, remembering the description he’d given when they’d gone for the ill-fated picnic where he’d berated her for worrying about him. “The Indian prince gave it to you?”
Henry nodded. “We were friends and, like I said, to him it was a mere trifle.”
“Oh, my word, Henry, and you said you’d not be able to buy me jewels!”
“Well, strictly speaking, I didn’t buy it. It was given to me.”
Florence stared at it, awestruck.
“I’m too terrified to touch it,” she admitted. “I don’t want to damage it.”
“It’s not so fragile as all that, love. But it is yours, all yours.”
She looked up at Henry, knowing he was not merely speaking of the ruby. “You have my heart too, Henry. You know that, don’t you? I knew the moment I saw you that you were the one, though I couldn’t have told you why at the time. I can now. You are everything I want, everything I have ever wanted, because you see me, Henry. You love me, even when I’m being irrational or difficult, or behaving badly. You’re kind and honest, and I know I can always depend on you, and that you will never belittle me or dismiss my opinions.”
He frowned at that and shook his head. “I never will again. I was the biggest fool alive not to listen to you. The stupid thing was… I wanted to.”
“You did?” she smiled at him, wondering what he meant by that.
“I was terrified of you, of how you made me feel. I couldn’t take my eyes off you, wanted to be near you constantly, and… I rather hated you for making me want you so badly. That’s why I was so abominably rude. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” Florence said, setting the box aside. She moved closer to him and slid her arms about his waist. “I’m glad I had to chase you down, Henry Stanhope, for you know I do love a challenge.”
He smiled at her words, but there was a look in his eyes that made her breath come faster.
“Um…” she began, racking her brain for something to say.
“Florence, I’d like to take you to bed now.”
Oh. It was finally happening. She couldn’t breathe. This was ridiculous. Why was she so nervous? She’d been pursuing this man for weeks, desperate for his touch, and now she had it… Lud, but her wretched corset was tight.
“Florence?”
“Um… bed. Yes. Yes, we should certainly, definitely… g-go to bed.” She nodded, her head bobbing up and down too fast, staring at the object in question as her pulse thundered in her ears. “Because that’s what people do, w-when they’re married. They go to bed. Together. It’s nighttime, after all, and—”
“Florence?”
“Yes?”
“You’re babbling, love.”
“I know. I can’t make it stop.”
“Don’t worry. I can.”
Henry kissed her, pulling her into his arms and slanting his mouth over hers. For a moment she stood rigid in his embrace, and then all at once the tension drained out of her body as the rightness of the moment wrapped about her as firmly as Henry had. There was no need to be nervous, no need for anxiety. Henry was with her, and that was all that mattered. She was safe, he always made her feel safe. He pulled back, staring down into her eyes for a long moment, searching her expression.
“Better?” he asked.
Florence sighed. “Much. Thank you.”
The grin he returned was boyish and pleased and quite irresistible.
“Right, let’s get this dress off you,” he said, standing back to consider her beautiful gown as though it were one of the labours of Hercules.
It was lovely and delicate, the silk a very pale shade of silver and trimmed with large swathes of Honiton lace. It had also been the very devil to get into.
“Perhaps I should ask Maisie—”
“No.” Henry’s dark brows drew together, and he shook his head, a look of fierce determination in his eyes. “I learned to sail, I can manage rigging, I can even tie a gunner’s knot, so this… this is… I can do this. Turn around.”
Florence bit back a smile and turned, waiting as her husband patiently undid buttons and hooks.
“I’m thinking of going into dress design,” he muttered. “Because whoever is currently responsible for this mode of fashion is a damned sadist. A woman designed this, surely? No man in their right mind would make it so damned difficult to undress his wife. Not a sane one, anyway.”
He chuntered on, grumbling under his breath a bit longer until the dress was completely undone. Florence stepped out of it.
“Now the corset,” she said brightly.
Henry groaned.
Florence laughed as he tugged and cursed at the strings of her corset. Perhaps it was nerves, but the situation tickled her immensely and the harder she tried not to laugh the worse it got. He was kneeling behind her now, wrestling with a knot.
“A fine thing, laughing at your husband on your wedding day, tormenting him with this confounded contraption. A plague on all modistes the world over, I hope their whale bones splinter and their strings snap.”
Florence slapped a hand over her mouth, hysteria bubbling inside of her. Goodness, but he was funny.
“There!”
Henry’s exclamation of triumph was so full of pride that it was the last straw. It was no good, she turned to look at his jubilant expression and laughed until tears ran down her cheeks and she was gasping for breath. And then his hand slid up the back of her knee, her thigh, his finger tracing a delicate line under the curve of her bottom. She made a hiccoughing sound and stopped abruptly.
Henry sent her a devilish look, his eyes glittering with mirth. “Ah, now I have your attention, do I, wife?”
Florence swallowed as he leaned in and nuzzled his face against her stomach. Her chemise was very fine, almost transparent, and his warm breath reached her skin, sending little shivers fluttering over her belly. Both hands were beneath her chemise now, stroking her bottom as Henry kissed his way across to her hip bone.
“Take it off,” he commanded.
With hands that were not entirely steady, Florence reached for the hem and pulled it off over her head, leaving her in only her stockings. Henry stared up at her, his gaze raking over her with such heat and admiration it felt like a caress.
“I can’t believe you are real,�
�� he said, his voice low and rough. “My word, Florence, I don’t know what the devil I did to deserve you, or to make you believe that I do at any rate, but… thank you. Thank you for choosing me.”
Florence’s vision became a little blurry, but she smiled at him.
“You’ve too many clothes on, Henry,” she said. Her voice was a tad wobbly, but she was determined not to be shy and missish. “Do get a move on.”
He gave a bark of laughter and got to his feet, shedding clothes at a quite astonishing rate. She had always admired Henry for being so elegantly dressed, never a crease or a hair out of place. The way he discarded his clothes now, flinging them hither and yon with abandon, it was hard to believe it was the same fellow, but she appeared to have motivated him to hurry up with no trouble.
Florence stared as he tugged off his shirt, watching the play of muscle as he moved. She had known he was an athletic sort, but she had not been prepared for the strength of him. He had broad shoulders and powerful arms, and his chest was lightly covered with dark hair that led off in a thin trail which disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers. His upper body was as tanned as his face, and she wondered where on earth he’d been to wander about with no shirt on under the sun. Her question must have been evident in her eyes, for he smirked at her.
“I did a lot of sailing. There’s no one to see if you’re hot and take your shirt off when you are miles from shore.”
“Oh,” she said, at a loss for anything more sensible to say except, “You are very fine, Henry.”
“I’m relieved you think so,” he said, and her breath caught as he shucked his small clothes and kicked them aside.
Florence stared. Mama hated that girls were not educated as their brothers were and had always been very frank about explaining things most people thought young ladies ought know absolutely nothing about. Sex was no exception and she had prepared Florence for her wedding night with quiet, no-nonsense explanations, and a few medical drawings which she said would make seeing her husband for the first time less of a shock. Well, it had worked… up to a point. That point being that Henry was rather magnificent and looked nothing like a dusty medical drawing.
Good heavens.
Something hot and impatient uncoiled in her belly and Florence swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.
“Are you going to start babbling again?” he asked her, a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes.
It took a moment for her to unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth, but she managed a taut nod. “It is a distinct possibility, once I remember… er… words.”
He laughed and strode to her, sweeping her up in his arms. “Well, that’s the biggest boost to my ego since you kissed me in the shepherd’s hut.”
Florence squealed at the sensation of being lifted in his arms, his naked body against hers.
“Well, someone had to do something,” she said, striving for dignity, which became impossible as he dropped her onto the mattress and she bounced, much to her husband’s approval from the look in his eyes. “Because it was clear you would never kiss me, no matter how I encouraged you. You were so troublesome, Henry. I thought you would never touch me.”
“I didn’t dare,” he said, climbing—no, prowling—across the mattress as he crawled over her.
“Whyever not?” she asked, her breath catching at the look in his eyes.
“Because I knew it would end like this,” he murmured, and then his mouth was on hers, his body flush against her body, and the shock of his skin, so hot and hard, pressed against hers, was a delirious pleasure. He lifted his head to gaze at her. “You bewitched me from the first, you little she-devil, but I had to make a show of putting up a fight, at least.”
“Utterly pointless,” she said, gasping as he trailed hot kisses down her neck, across her collar bone, and made his way to her breast.
“It was utterly pointless,” he agreed amiably, and then his mouth closed over her breast and any further conversation became impossible. He teased and tortured the tightly furled bud of her nipple before trailing his mouth across the valley between her breasts and starting all over again. When he finally raised his head, Florence was breathing hard.
“Fair warning, I am going to kiss you everywhere,” he said, watching her expression intently.
Florence nodded, quite happy with this plan.
His lips quirked. “My, my, not even a little scandalised?”
She shook her head. “Mama warned me,” she said, somewhat smug though the words were too breathless to sound sanguine.
“I see,” he murmured against her skin. “I shall have to try harder, then.”
Privately, Florence thought he did not need to try at all, for it was one thing to be told your husband would likely enjoy kissing you in all sorts of extraordinary places, and quite another to be on the receiving end of those kisses. His hot mouth and silky tongue descended along her body, leaving a cool trail of damp skin. Florence shivered, even though she was burning up, and knowing his destination did not diminish the shock of his mouth upon her, the sensation of his hot tongue swiping over her most private flesh. She cried out, that wanton sound also a revelation, but it was impossible to keep quiet when he did such wicked things.
“The walls are thick, love, don’t fret,” he said, and she heard the amusement in his voice as he correctly interpreted her concern. “No one will hear, I promise.”
She prayed he was right as he returned to his work and any vestige of sanity melted like butter on hot toast. Her concentration diminished, nothing outside of the feel of his mouth upon her registering as he licked and suckled. She grew dizzy with the decadent pleasure of it, her blood somehow effervescent in her veins as the sensation built and built and….
Her hips bucked so hard Henry held her down, his strong hands keeping her in place as she writhed beneath him, waves of such intoxicating joys rolling over her that she could do nothing but submit to it until she was a whimpering puddle of liquid honey, utterly spent.
“Oh my,” were the only coherent words she could manage. “Oh… Oh my.”
Henry crawled back up her body, staring down at her and looking vastly pleased with himself. Well, she could hardly blame him. It had been rather magnificent. She giggled at his expression.
“Stop looking so smug,” she murmured, though speaking seemed a great effort.
He shook his head. “You’d best get used to this expression, for I shall be wearing it often.”
Florence quirked an eyebrow at him, and he gave a low laugh, moving to lie alongside her.
“Oh, not just for this,” he assured her. “But whenever I go anywhere with you, and all the fellows look at me and think you lucky dog. How the devil did you manage it?”
He turned her pliant body so that her back was to his chest and nuzzled her neck as his large hand caressed her, cupping her breast before sliding back down her belly between her legs.
Florence gasped as he gently touched her oversensitive skin, sliding into the damp heat and stroking again.
“Henry,” she said, a hint of uncertainty in the tone of her voice.
“Shhh,” he crooned. “Trust me.”
She did, so she subsided, rather astonished as her insides quickened and tightened all over again. Florence gave a soft sob as an ache began deep within her, pleasure and pain and longing. All at once she felt so empty it was unbearable and she pressed back against him, seeking his body, the part of him that would make it right. The hot slide of his arousal against her was only another torment, teasing her as it glided over her needy flesh in languid strokes designed to make her wild.
“Henry,” she said, his name a definite complaint now, but he only gave a low chuckle and nipped at her ear.
“Not yet, love. It will be easier for you the longer you wait. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“No, you want to drive me insane,” she whined, which only made him bury his face against her neck to hide his laughter.
“Poor darling,” he crooned, his voice
unsteady.
Perhaps taking pity on her, he turned her onto her back, settling between her thighs.
“Oh, yes, yes, Henry, please….” she begged, beyond shyness or shame or anything but the need to have him inside her.
“Raise your legs,” he commanded, groaning as his cock nestled snugly against her. His gaze settled upon hers, his eyes so very dark now. “Kiss me.”
Florence did, hungry for his mouth, but he gentled her, slowing everything down again, his hands sliding over her with calm, lazy strokes until she thought she’d run mad. His strong fingers tweaked at her nipple, and she gave a startled cry, the sensation arrowing straight between her legs. That heated place was throbbing now, the gentle caress of his flesh over hers delicious, maddening and inciting but not quite enough.
She stared up at her husband, seeing now that he was not unaffected either. His breathing was laboured, his skin passion-flushed and, as she stared at him, he moved, thrusting inside her. She gasped. Suddenly he was sheathed within her, filling her, and the sensation was overwhelming. Florence gasped and clung to him, disorientated.
“Darling?” he said, and she knew it was a question, but she couldn’t find an answer, so she only nodded and held on tight.
He let out a breath of relief and retreated, sliding back inside her and… oh. Oh, that was….
Henry watched her face and whatever he saw must have reassured him, for his mouth quirked up a little. Florence let out a breath of laughter too and then he was kissing her again and it was all a delicious tangle of limbs and emotion and such intimacy that it hardly seemed possible.
“Henry,” she said, his name now the extent of her vocabulary. It could be translated to mean, yes, and, oh, yes, and I love you, and don’t stop, and, please, please, yes!
The only thing in the world was the race to the finish, chasing that glittering explosion of joy together, and the only thing more marvellous than how it felt being flung into the darkness as the pleasure overwhelmed her was knowing that Henry was with her. She heard the primitive cry he made, felt his body quake as the climax took him and he spilled inside her, collapsing at last with his chest heaving and his arms still tight about her.
Dare it all for Love (Daring Daughters Book 5) Page 21
