Antonia pushed her fingers into his long hair then down to graze along his hairy jaw line. He closed his eyes and released a faint groan.
“Pure torture,” he murmured and brought his hands down to cup her rear.
She sucked in a sharp breath at the bold move, at the way her body seemed to sing with pleasure at the touch. Heat flooded down between her legs and a desperate, pounding ache started up like the beat of a drum inside her.
Hands in his hair again, Antonia brought her mouth down on his. Gently, she savoured the taste of his firm lips and how his fingers tightened their grip on her bottom. Antonia sampled the seam of his lips and the inner corner. A shudder wracked his huge body. Emboldened, she deepened the kiss. When his tongue met hers, she couldn’t help but release a moan of satisfaction.
Henry shifted back and coaxed her closer, urging her to straddle him. She settled on her knees and drew in a sharp breath when her body met his hard arousal. He gazed up at her, running his fingers over her face and down her neck.
Eyes fluttering closed, she savoured the rasp of his fingers against her skin, relished the way he let one tip linger on the hollow of her neck and across her collarbone. He dipped that finger between her breasts and she gripped the bedding beside him. Her nipples pressed against her simple gown and she found herself silently uttering thanks for the lack of material between them. She could feel him hot and heavy against his braies, throbbing and desperate with desire for her.
Never had she felt so strong and powerful.
Henry had given her that.
She rocked her hips against him, feeling sparks of pleasure burn deep inside. He hissed her name and pressed his lips to her chest. Head tilted back, she gave herself up to his mouth while she continued to rock.
“Antonia, my God,” he said through clenched teeth while his kisses grew unsteady.
He placed one at the side of her neck, under her ear, to her chin, to her other ear. Her body grew hot and prickly, her movements more frantic. Sweet bliss began to simmer through her. Henry’s hands found her hips and he urged her on, faster, harder.
Antonia stiffened. A surging wave hit her, then again. It washed through her until she was languid and tingling from head to toe. Henry urged her against him with a hand to her back and he kissed her forehead before lying her down next to him.
He twisted to rest the back of his fingers against her cheek and stroke softly. She found herself captured by his gaze as he stared down at her.
“This need go no further. I will understand.”
She shook her head. She wanted it to go further. To know him in the most intimate way. Whatever the future held, she needed to know what it would feel like to make love with this man. Whether he loved her or not, he cared deeply for her. Her love would make it enough.
“Your injury,” she whispered, touching the linen.
“You would have to kill me to prevent me from touching you. That is, if that is what you wish?”
“Oh si. Touch me. Por favor.”
In answer to her plea, he skimmed a hand over her chest and down. She rose and fell with his touch like waves on the ocean. Henry gripped her skirts and began to haul them up, baring her legs to his view. Those coarse fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and she drew in a deep breath, holding it until he came down to kiss her.
While his kisses made her breathless and hot, his touch made her writhe and moan. He teased as though he had all the time in the world, as though she was not a gunpowder keg ready to ignite. Up her thighs and down, touching the crease at the very top before retreating.
“Mio Dios, touch me,” she begged.
Antonia thought he might deny her. Thought he might continue to tease if the way he drew back and grinned at her was anything to go by. But her bold warrior surprised her. Within instants, his finger was at her juncture. Before she could register the feeling of such an intimate touch, he had buried it in her wet folds.
She arched and stiffened. She gripped his arms. He muttered several words that were too quiet and quick for her to catch. Henry’s gaze caught hers and he pushed that finger deeper while watching for her reaction. The sweet invasion made her want to cry out and at the same time keep the sounds quiet and private, to savour the pleasure deep inside her and never let it go.
A second finger joined the first, stretching her beautifully. He seemed determined to bring her to the edge while watching every moment. She let him. Antonia gave herself up and rocked her hips while he curled his fingers and touched a spot deep inside her. He pressed a hand under her head and made his mastery of her body complete when he circled his thumb over the sensitive spot on her sex. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and cried out his name.
Once she’d gathered her breath, he withdrew his fingers and stood to finish undressing. It took mere moments for him to reveal himself and she forced herself to push up on her elbows to get a fine view. She hardly thought it possible but a deep, longing pang resounded inside her at the sight of all that muscle completely revealed.
And then he was upon her again, kissing her deeply, hungrily. Gone was the patient, honourable man. The one who replaced him—the elemental, bold man—thrilled her. She’d seen many sides to Henry and she loved them all deeply. Here was the man who threw himself in front of vulnerable people, who rescued people from burning ships without a thought. And now he would take her in the same courageous way.
Henry lifted her skirts and settled between her legs. He urged fingers through her hair and tilted her head back enough to take her mouth hard. A hand sought out the laces at the front of her gown, loosening them until he could coax a breast out of the confines of the gown and chemise. He dropped his head briefly to take a nipple in his mouth but not for long. When she pressed her hips up into him and felt the soft touch of his arousal against her folds, she knew there was no going back.
He inched in, stretching her, filling her. To be so closely joined with him made her heart sing. She wrapped her arms about him, wary of his wounded arm and closed her eyes at the feel of his rough chest against her exposed breasts. The only thing that would have made it more perfect would have been had she been fully naked. Either way, she wouldn’t have changed it for the world.
Once they were as close as two people could get, he withdrew and pushed back into her. He groaned her name and she stroked her hands across his hair, his back, in a bid to memorise every part of him. She took his sounds of pleasure and held them close in her heart. Though a building bliss grew deep inside her, she ignored it. For her, this was about him, about giving him every part of her without the deafening cacophony of her climax. Antonia gripped his rear and urged him on, deeper, harder.
He gave her a shaky kiss and his muscles bunched. So much restrained power sent a whirl of anticipation through her stomach. No fear or worry haunted her. In Henry’s arms, she could be herself and know that he would do all he could to take care of her.
“Antonia...forgive—”
She cut him off with a firm kiss and held him deep within her with her hands to his buttocks. His body tensed and unfurled with a great shudder. Heat spilled inside her and she watched his expression give way to the pleasure. Antonia took a moment to close her eyes and simply enjoy the moment.
When she opened her eyes, regret lingered in his gaze. She couldn’t bear for him to utter more words of apology so she kissed him tenderly. It worked to silence him. Henry withdrew and eased onto his back with a barely suppressed groan. She shook her head at his foolhardiness but she couldn’t bring herself to be cross with him for making love to her while injured, not when it had been like that.
He extended an arm and motioned for her to lie next to him. Curled up against his side, she stroked a hand across his impressive chest and drew in the musky scent of him.
“Ah, Antonia, what am I to do with you?”
She had no answer for him. Her father was due to return home, and she with him. She was a Catholic in a Protestant land and Henry had many responsib
ilities. There were many things she wished for him to do with her, but she didn’t know if any of them were possible.
Chapter Sixteen
Waking up in pain wasn’t pleasant. Waking without Antonia, even more so. Henry eased to sitting and put a hand to the bandage around his ribs. He’d forgotten all about the pain when he’d been buried inside her, but he shouldn’t have given in really. It was likely he’d extended the time it would take to heal.
Not to mention he’d taken any last shred of honour he had and thrown it to the wind. Hell fire, he’d even spilled inside her. Right now, his child could be taking shape in her body. The image appealed too much. He’d taken so much from her and left her with that possibility. He’d left her without choice.
Henry scrubbed a hand over his face and forced himself out of bed. She’d been with him in the early hours. Even now, he was aroused but he’d managed to resist making love to her again. After everything she’d been through, she deserved more. She deserved more than the possibility of being with child out of wedlock and forced into marriage to a man in a strange country and being torn from her family.
When had she left him? He peered around the bedchamber as though it might give him some sign of when or why she had decided not to wake with him. Had she truly opted to go to the guest chamber? Her courage pushed a smile across his face. She was a far cry from the terrified girl who had first come to his house.
He climbed out of bed with all the agility of an old man. His muscles were stiff and he was paying for his brawl with Reed. If only he was in better health, he might have shown Antonia such pleasure that she wouldn’t have wanted to leave his bed. Except, of course, he didn’t wish to do that, did he? He wanted to treat her with respect and courtesy.
However, the voice deep inside him told him he wanted to hear her cries of pleasure again, but this time he wanted to hear them repeated and he wanted to taste her arousal and feel her shaking limbs. He wanted to bring her to the brink over and over. Mayhap she had been disappointed with him and had made her escape when she could.
God’s blood, what if he’d reminded her of her husband?
Ice water ran through his veins. He strode over to the ewer and cleaned his face and body before dressing with as much haste as he could muster with his injuries. Tying back his hair, he scraped his fingers through his beard to neaten it and pulled on his long boots. He needed to find her and ensure he hadn’t scared her. He’d never forgive himself.
Then he had to speak with her father. The man might want to call him out in which case he’d willingly surrender himself. He certainly wouldn’t be responsible for killing Antonia’s father. But they had to plan for the worst—Antonia carrying his babe.
When he entered the dining room, he scowled at the empty seat where she should have been. “Kate!”
The housekeeper hurried in, wiping her hands on her apron. “Sir? What is it? Do you need the physician?”
“Nay, I don’t need the physician,” he snapped. “Where is Antonia?”
“She went to the village. Needed some herbs, she said.”
Henry gritted his teeth. “On her own?”
“Nay, John took her down.”
He thought of the strong servant and gave a reluctant nod. Still, unease sat in his gut at the idea of her being in the village with only a servant for protection.
“I could hardly restrain her myself, Sir Henry.”
He gave a distracted wave. “Aye, I know. She’ll not go anywhere, but until these prisoners are gone, I fear tempers will still give way.”
Eyeing the morning meal, he dismissed it and sought out his cloak. He tied it and stepped out of the house. The day was mild and a chill hung in the air. They would be heading into colder weather soon enough and that would make returning the prisoners all the harder with rough seas. Rain hung on the horizon, grey and thick like wood smoke. He would bet Antonia didn’t have a cloak on.
“I must check all is well at the barn,” he told Kate as she followed him out.
“And to check Antonia is well?” she asked, the faintest smile on her lips.
“Well I’ll not leave her alone to be sure.”
“She has John.”
Henry shook his head. “She’ll be safer at my side.”
Kate nodded and her grin grew. “Aye, I do not doubt it. She’s a lucky woman.”
Before he could respond, she turned back into the house. What did his housekeeper mean? He strode toward the stables and rested against an empty stall while Richard saddled his horse. Lucky? Antonia had become a prisoner in a strange land, she had been nearly drowned and taken prisoner by a mad man. Then he had taken her into his bed and spilled inside her. He didn’t think Antonia would consider herself lucky whether she loved him or not.
Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ward off any warm sensation in his chest at the remembrance of her words. So she loved him. Did that make any difference to their situation? He couldn’t see how it would. He still had to take a step back and allow her to decide her fate. Love couldn’t come into it.
Even if the creeping sensation running over him and burrowing deep into his heart told him he felt the same.
By the time his horse was saddled, the rain had moved over the manor house. Though light, it seeped through his thick cloak and dampened his hair until it stuck to his face. He pushed the strands of hair back and made his way down toward the old barn. Antonia would have to wait.
He greeted the lieutenant and checked on the conditions of the prisoners. Some were ill but most were in good health. Unfortunately it was inevitable they would lose some to sickness in such close confines but the increased sum of money from Torquay would ensure they could continue to feed them well. If only the Spanish would claim their men and take them home but of course, they didn’t much care for the poor sailors and peasants who made up the majority of them.
All was quiet as he rode into the village. He waited for mutters of how he’d been too lenient with the rioters or murmurs of discontent but none came. One of the local women approached and he paused to speak with her.
“I must thank ye, Sir Henry, for yer actions the other day. My boy got caught up in the fight and I dare not think what might have happened had ye set yer men upon them.”
He shook his head. “Would that it had not happened at all.”
“Yer father would have strung them up or slaughtered them all.” She paused. “Forgive me, I should not speak so. But as a mother, I’m grateful to ye.”
Henry offered her a small smile and bid her good day. He doubted he had won all the villagers over in the space of a few days but it appeared events had calmed the population somewhat. Whatever their thoughts of him, he would never become like his father. Seeing the horror on Antonia’s face as he tried to kill Reed was enough to prevent him from ever wanting to be that barbaric. Justice would be served at the local courts and he doubted Reed would get away with kidnapping Antonia and attempting to kill him easily. In all likelihood, the man might be hung anyway.
But it wouldn’t be by his hands.
He pulled the mount to a stop outside the physician’s house. The scent of lavender broke through the odour of the pigs outside the house next door. Henry tethered his horse and dipped his head in greeting as one of the villagers herded a handful of sheep down the muddy road. The poor creatures looked about as wet and uncomfortable as him.
Antonia was in the kitchen, chopping some herbs, when he entered. She had her back to him and wisps of pollen floated about the air. With only the light of two candles on the fireplace, she appeared ethereal and golden. What little grey light slipped in through the small window did nothing to dissuade his heart from pounding at the sight of her. Her dark hair hung down in a long braid that made him want to untie the leather and see it spilled about her bare shoulders. She swayed as she chopped and he could make out the curve of her rear against the green wool of her gown.
Henry curled a fist and drew in a breath through his nostrils. He coughed,
dragging his gaze up away from where he so longed to touch her.
Antonia whirled. A grin broke across her face. “Henry.”
“You shouldn’t have come alone, Antonia.”
“John came with me.”
He grunted. He was beginning to get mightily fed up with hearing of the servant. “Where is he?”
“Went to collect some candles from the chandler. I cannot very well come to harm here.” She brushed her lavender-covered hands down her skirts.
“You could have waited,” he grumbled.
“You needed your rest,” she replied softly. “And I had need of some herbs to ensure you heal properly. You shouldn’t even be riding or getting wet.”
“I told you, ‘twas a mere—”
“Scratch. I know.”
Henry shifted on his feet. He didn’t wish to get angry with her, after all she had come down to the physician’s for him, foolish woman. However, the itching desire to stride over, draw her close and kiss her until she forgot her name made him tense and on edge.
He needed to speak with her father.
“Is your father abed?”
“He is upstairs,” she confirmed.
“When you are done, I’ll take you home—to the manor, that is.”
She nodded and turned her attention back to the herbs but not before he noted the faint flicker of sadness in her gaze. By God, he hated himself for making her feel like that. Did she feel used? Worried? Whatever she felt, he wanted to obliterate that sadness and replace it with nothing but utter pleasure. If she was his for the keeping, he’d make her feel treasured at every moment.
He made his way up the wooden steps to the top of the house and ducked in through the open door of her father’s chamber. The old man was sitting on a heavily carved chair, surrounded by cushions, with his leg on a footrest. For a man of his age, he appeared remarkably well.
“How goes it, sir?”
De Valdés placed his book down and motioned to the chair opposite. “Good morrow to you, Sir Henry.”
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