The Stablemaster's Daughter (Regency Rendezvous Book 11)

by Barbara Devlin

  “After you.” He delighted in her unmasked joy, as she tore open the missive, and he gave his attention to his assortment.

  Opting to organize her letters by date, he ripped the edge of the very first correspondence she sent and plummeted into despair so palpable that his eyes welled. The anguish penned by a much younger Hen wrenched his heart, as she expressed the emptiness and pain in a child’s terms.

  Myriad vignettes sprang to life, animated visions of a girl’s fancy depicted in precise detail, that he might persist in her world, even if only via the written word.

  The second note detailed similar, extended agony, and her desperation shook him to his core, as she pleaded with him to write to her. The third and fourth exchanges buried him in hopelessness, while repeating her requests for some response from him, and that was the cruelest cut of all, because he endured the same torture.

  Likewise, despite the separation, and independent of each other, they clung to the habits they once indulged, as she collected the cowslips he once brought her, harkening to her devoted beau. The sentimental gesture, raw in its desperation, brought him so very low.

  It was then he realized Henrietta stared at him, holding one of his letters to her, and the tears streaming her cheeks mirrored his own.

  “You missed me.” She cast a tremulous smile. “And you wanted to visit me.”

  “Did you ever doubt me?” He unfolded another missive. “Because I longed to see you.”

  “I am ashamed to admit I did.” As she fumbled with a handkerchief, he none-too-elegantly wiped his face. “Your silence struck a blow, because I did not know your father never posted your letters, and he kept mine from you. Oh, what we lost, Ernest. It is unbearable to contemplate.”

  “Were he alive, I would never speak to him again.” The bitterness of hate filled his mouth, and he swallowed hard. “As it stands, I will never forgive him for taking you from me.”

  For a while, they simply sat there and stared, as unspoken emotion simmered about them. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, so many emotions he needed to share, yet he remained mute. Then the invisible dam burst, he reached for her, as she reached for him, and passion erupted as soon as they touched.

  Amid the crackling parchment and missives that dropped to the floor, as autumn leaves scattered in the breeze, nothing could dampen their fervor. It was always the same, when their lips met. Soothing warmth pervaded his flesh, shivered along his spine, and settled as a comforting heat in his loins. Fire charged his nerves, consuming him in its intensity, and he gave himself to the raw hunger that burgeoned in his belly.

  After loosening the bodice of her gown, he inched down the silk fabric, untied the ribbon of her chemise, and bared her beautiful breasts. With his tongue, he flicked her tempting nipples and then suckled from her delicate flesh, until she wiggled, moaned, and yanked his hair.

  Riding a wave of lust, driven by so much pent up emotion; he lifted Henrietta from the chaise and carried her to the inner chamber, where he flung her atop the bed. In seconds, he covered her and gave her his weight. It was the first time he rested his hips to hers, and he pressed his rock-hard erection against her.

  “Ernest, please.” Her brown eyes flared in the wake of her appeal.

  That was the one plea guaranteed to waylay his defenses, and all trace of rational thought fled him.

  Shifting, he pulled up her skirts, eased between her creamy thighs, unhooked his breeches, freed his length, positioned himself, and thrust.

  Thus, he claimed her, irrevocably.

  There were precious moments in his life that he committed to memory, that such reveries might sustain him in his darkest hours, and they all centered on his lady. The first time he kissed Henrietta. The first time they held hands. The first time they pledged their undying love. The day he was told she departed Garring Manor. The afternoon she fell from the tree, into his lap, and into his world. But the instant in which they first joined their bodies in the most intimate connection known to humanity would reign supreme as the most treasured recollection of all.

  Her cry of pain was enough to temper his movements, as he held perfectly still and framed her cheeks. It was then he realized he seized her bride’s prize, and that should not have surprised him, but it did. Focusing on her needs, as she whimpered, he kissed her, withdrew, and reseated himself fully within her.

  “Shh, love.” He repeated the decadent slip and slide, again and again. “Wrap your legs about me, sweetheart.”

  “Like this?” She furrowed her brow and held him in her sweet embrace, which enabled him to sink deeper inside her. “Oh.”

  “Perfect, my little bird.” Summoning the finesse honed in the company of some of the most experienced courtesans in London, he put Henrietta’s needs before his own and slowed his pace, as completion beckoned, because he would wait for her release. In some sort of fiendish game, he increased and then moderated the rhythm, stroking her supple sheath, enticing her to yield herself to the pinnacle of their fiery coupling.

  Of course, he should have known she would not make it easy on him, and she a proved a most demanding lover, testing his persistence and prowess. Desire swirled and soared, delivering him to heretofore-unimaginable heights of sensuality, and at some point he lost himself in the inferno, until she stiffened, dug her nails into his shoulders, and screamed.

  On the heels of her healthy release, Ernest rose above her, gazed on his future wife, surrendered to the salacious storm, and the resulting completion carried him beyond anything he had ever experienced.

  ~

  The candles had guttered, but a blaze still burned in the hearth, as Henrietta woke and stared at the canopy of her bed. For a few minutes, confusion reigned, as she remained unsure of her surroundings. Then a torrent of licentious images flooded her consciousness. Ernest kissing her. Touching her. Filling her. Myriad sensations coursed her skin, and passion blossomed anew. When she realized her man sprawled atop her, with his flesh buried deeply—intimately in hers, she panicked and flinched.

  In that instant, he opened his eyes, snuffled, gazed at her, and smiled, and she was not sure how to characterize his expression, when he waggled his brows. “Hello, my naughty little bird.”

  “You are one to talk.” Of course, he was in a playful mood, when she needed her rational Ernest. “If memory serves, you are the one who initiated our tryst.” As he stretched, he flexed his hips, and she sucked in a breath. “But I did not fight you.”

  “No, you did not, to my infinite gratitude, not that I expected you would.” To her discomfit, he withdrew and pushed from the mattress, and she shivered in the absence of his warmth. To make the situation worse, if that was possible, his behavior did not inspire confidence, as he untied his cravat, yanked the yard-length of linen from his neck, and draped the swatch of cloth over the back of a chair. Soon, he doffed his coat and shirt. Then he sat to pull off his Hessians. Was he planning to stay? “By the by, why did you not tell me it was your first time?”

  “What?” Never would she have predicted that query, and she scooted upright, more than a tad hurt by his slight. “How dare you say such a thing. Do you think so little of me?”

  “My apologies, darling, as that must have sounded awful, when I intended no insult.” When he stripped from his breeches, as though it were an everyday occurrence to disrobe in her presence, she studied the damask print of her counterpane. “Given your age, it would not have surprised me had you experimented with some lucky fellow in Kent, and it would have mattered not, because nothing could diminish my devotion to you. And you were so cooperative with me, in the north field, after our phaeton race with Barrington, that I assumed you had already experienced lovemaking. That you were untouched, and I claimed your most intimate gift, means more to me than you will ever know, and I am honored, my dear.”

  “Why would I ever deny you anything, least of all my body, when I have known you all my life? And you are the only man to know me thus. Have you known other women?” When he no
dded, she frowned. “I am not sure how to feel about that.”

  “Sweetheart, society places different expectations on men, and my father purchased my first mistress for me, when I was but six and ten, and he left me no choice in the matter, I am afraid.” He flicked his fingers, and she shook her head, because there was much to resolve between them. Grasping her ankles, he dragged her to the edge of the mattress, and she shrieked. “But you must believe me, they were nothing to me, whereas you are everything.”

  “What are you doing?” When she stood, he turned her around and untied the laces of her gown, which he inched to her waist. “Ernest, I am quite capable of undressing myself, and you cannot sleep here.”

  “I do not plan to sleep much, and I am sure you are most capable, but I want to do it, as I have often dreamed of this moment.” The dress hit the floor, and the chemise, hose, and garters followed. Naked as the day she was born, she blushed, when he led her to stand before the long mirror. “You are so beautiful, Henrietta, and how I have ached to look upon you like this. Indeed, you surpass my wildest fantasies, and trust me there were many, but tonight you became mine, for all time, and I want to celebrate this most cherished occasion.” From behind, he cupped her breasts and toyed with her nipples. “Whatever happens in London, you will be my wife. Never doubt that.” He smacked her bottom. “Now, climb into bed, because I want you again.”

  “Ernest, you must be joking, because despite your plans, we should not be doing this.” As if she had not noticed his arousal, which he pressed to the cleft of her derriere. “What if we are discovered? What of my reputation? And there are other consequences to consider, given I am an unmarried woman. We cannot engage in such activities again.”

  “Sweetheart, that is a mere technicality, which will soon be rectified.” Despite her warning, he shuffled her to the four-poster and lifted her to the mattress. “And if you think I can blithely return to my chamber, after sampling what you have to offer, you are grossly mistaken. In fact, when we journey to London, I will instruct Crawford to install you in a room close to mine, so that you shall never again pass a night not spent in my arms.”

  “Is that a promise?” How she needed his strength just then, as their shared passion left her shaken and vulnerable. “Because, if we continue down this perilous path, I need to know this is really happening. I need to know I can depend on you, as I have already risked everything. As you so deftly pointed out, society holds women to a different standard, and without you I am ruined, but you would be free to go about your business. This is not a child’s game we play.”

  “Do you doubt me?” Even as she expressed what she considered grave concerns, which could have catastrophic consequences, he grinned. “That is not very kind of you, my little bird.”

  “Ernest, I am trying to be serious.” Could he not see that she needed reassurance? As she rested amid the pillows, he reclined at her side and with his hands he roamed her body, and nothing escaped his attention. She should have protested. Should have banished him to his own accommodation, because someone needed to be the voice of reason, but she could not turn him away. The yearning, the hunger swelled, and she cupped his cheek. “We have talked about some wonderful things, and I am counting on you, because I am yours.”

  “As well you should, given nothing and no one, not even my father, can stop us, now.” In that instant, he covered her, nudged apart her legs with his knees, eased his hips to hers, and entered her. “Because this is forever, my only love. My darling Henrietta.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  London

  The London Season manifested an array of diversions guaranteed to satisfy the appetites of even the most discriminating member of society. For the men, there were afternoons in the ring, engaging in pugilistic endeavors, at Gentleman Jackson’s Saloon, the early evening Promenade in the park, where most rakes hunted their next mistresses, the nightly balls, where the same rogues made their play for their intended targets, brandy taken at White’s, where the scoundrels bragged and lied of their prowess, and for the more lascivious cravings, there were the gaming halls and houses of ill repute that catered to every desire, no matter how vulgar. But their chief concern was avoiding the marriage-minded mamas of the ton.

  For the society ladies, life in the city presented an altogether different experience that revolved around being seen at their best. There were afternoon teas, the same jaunts through the park, evening musicales, nightly balls and visits to Almack’s, but the mission was entirely different, which put them at odds with their male counterparts. Their primary goal was to secure a husband, either for themselves or an unattached relation.

  It was that spirited competition, neither frivolous nor grave, that led Ernest to choose the Netherton’s annual celebration for Henrietta’s coming out, and although she would not be presented at court, in the official ceremony, he resolved to observe a singular custom to mark the joyous occasion. After a visit to the hothouse, he returned to Howe House, with a box containing a posy made of three pristine, white blooms.

  “Good evening, brother.” Barrington lingered in the foyer, a habit that foreboded an impending lecture, of some sort. “May I have a word with you in my study?”

  “What have I done now?” Drawing his watch from his pocket, he checked the time, as he strolled down the hall, in Barrington’s wake. “Can it not wait, as I need to dress for the ball, and I would not be late?”

  “No, it cannot wait.” In the man’s sanctuary, Barrington folded his arms and leaned against his desk. Ernest was in trouble. “I have been meaning to speak to you about your nightly forays into Henrietta’s private chamber.” Blushing, he opened and then closed his mouth. “That did not come out as I intended it, but I knew I should have protested, when you insisted she be given a room not three doors from yours.”

  “No need to explain, as I get your meaning.” In silence, Ernest cursed, because he thought he had been discreet. “What gave us away?”

  “You must be joking.” Barrington snorted. “Her scream of passion in the wee hours startled me and Florence awake, only this morning, and such behavior reflects poorly on you, given you are older and wiser. But the servants will hold Hen responsible, and I will not have it, so you will cease your games until you are married.”

  “I will not, and the entire matter is none of your affair.” Ah, a fresh recollection of his lady’s achingly sweet cries filled his ears, as he rode her just before dawn, and he sighed. When Barrington slammed a fist to his blotter, Ernest started and came alert. “Before you rip at me, you must understand that mine is not an act of rebellion. The simple truth is I am happy, brother. For the first time, in a long time, I am happy, and I have Henrietta to thank for that. And do not ask me to temper my actions, where she is concerned, because I cannot, as I love her.”

  “Do you think me blind?” Barrington rolled his eyes. “Of course, I know you love her. Bloody hell, you practically ooze honey whenever she is near, and if you continue down that path, you will attract the attention of the entire ton, before you are prepared to answer for her. And heaven help you if rumors reach the mews and Graham discovers you have well and thoroughly compromised his daughter. If that happens, it is doubtful even I could save you.”

  “Then I should talk to him, which is long overdue, because I would still have his blessing.” And it would not be easy, but Ernest had to try, for Henrietta’s sake. “But I live in the open now. No more worrying about appearances and what everyone thinks. I have spent too much of my life endeavoring to sustain society’s good opinion, yet they turned their backs on me in my darkest hour.”

  “Are you sure about that?” At the side table, Barrington lifted a crystal decanter and poured two glasses of brandy, one of which he offered to Ernest. “Old habits are hard to break, and you have long defined yourself by your reputation. Can you surrender it so easily?”

  “To marry the woman of my dreams?” Ernest snickered. “There is no choice, and I will not return to my bed, just to keep up appearanc
es. Indeed, I cannot sleep without Hen in my arms, and I promised her she would never again pass a night outside my embrace.”

  “Then I would caution you, one last time, to guard your habits where Henrietta is concerned.” Barrington averted his gaze. “Given I seized Florence’s prize before our nuptials, I am the last person to cast stones, but I took drastic measures to ensure no one knew of our regular rendezvous. For the love of all creation, cover her mouth with your hand, when she nears completion. Do whatever you must, but keep her quiet.”

  “All right.” Of course, that was easier said than done, because he thrilled to her boisterous approbations of his skills between the sheets, but they had the rest of their lives to enjoy connubial pleasures. With that, he headed for the exit. “If you will excuse me, I should like to give the posy to Henrietta, that she might fix it to her gown, for the ball.”

  “One more thing, brother.” Barrington gave Ernest pause. “It does my heart good to see you so happy, and I would hate for anything to spoil that.”

  “Thank you.” Ernest peered over his shoulder and nodded an acknowledgment. “I never supposed this would come about, and I will not give her up without a fight, because without her I am dead to this world.”

  Myriad thoughts battled for his attention, on the heels of his morbid declaration, as he returned to the foyer. On the hall tree hung a couple of riding crops, and he realized he had delayed a confrontation with Graham out of some misplaced sense of duty, because he desperately needed the stablemaster’s approval, though he knew not why. Underlying his trepidation was a deep-seated fear of rejection. The servant had already made his position clear, when it came to a union between Ernest and Henrietta, but he never comprehended the reason for the objection.

  “May I be of service, Lord Ernest?” Crawford clasped his hands.

  “Deliver this to Miss Graham, and instruct her to wear it, tonight.” Ernest gave the box with the posy into the butler’s care. “Tell her I shall await her arrival in the drawing room, at approximately seven-thirty.”