by Rose Gordon
A new type of heat crept up her face and she wriggled out of his arms. She had no business thinking of Henry in those terms. He was loyal and he'd been good to her; and oh how she loved that he desired her, but bringing a word like love into the mix was only asking for trouble.
She forced a smile and made a move to stand.
He seemed reluctant to let her go, which only strengthened her resolve. “As you said earlier, this is a two-person activity; therefore, I do believe it is now your turn to be the recipient of the pleasure.”
“I already have been,” he said brokenly, sweeping her with his gaze.
She blushed and gave his hand a gentle tug, a silent command to take to his feet.
Which he did.
In an attempt to regain her wits, she flicked her wrist in the direction of his boots, and said, “I think those will be a hindrance, wouldn't you say?”
Without another word, he leaned down to unlace them, then slipped them off and dropped them in a pile off to the side.
She stepped closer and ran her hands over the front of him, starting at his muscled shoulders and down his hard chest and solid stomach, then boldly she brushed her fingertips over his erection.
She lowered her lashes. The possibility of anyone like him ever loving her might be dismal, but she'd settle for his lust. At least it was pure and meant only for her.
He fisted his hands at his sides as she pulled his shirt from his trousers and then over his head, revealing his bronzed body. She ran her hands over his chest and abdomen once more, then down to the waistband of his trousers, where she dropped her eyes and worked the fastenings to release his fall.
His buttons weren't quite as easy to maneuver as hers were and she had to lean closer to him to get a better angle. But she refused to ask him for help. She was doing this. She could do this. Her forehead brushed his chest, and she was slightly relieved to feel his heart slamming in his chest with the same intensity hers was. She released the last button and let his trousers fall open, revealing the drawstring of his tented drawers.
She pulled the string and the knot slipped. Then, with a slowness that she hoped was just as torturous for him as it was for her, she peeled off his trousers, drawers and stockings and tossed them into a careless heap, leaving Henry standing in the middle of the room just as naked as she.
Always when they'd shared intimacies, the lights had been too low to get a very good glimpse of what he looked like from head to toe. Now, she threw every shred of shame or unease aside and stared at his well-formed body. Even with the dark clouds outside, blocking the sun, she could see his sculpted body perfectly.
He took a step toward her, then another. Then, his hands closed around her waist and he carried her to the bed as if she weighed nothing more than a sack of feathers.
She moved up the bed to allow him room. Not that he needed much, apparently. He parted her thighs and slid between her legs. Meeting her lips with his, he positioned himself at her entrance and pushed inside.
No longer did she flinch in anticipation of the pain she might feel when his body joined hers. Instead, her body accepted his intrusion and even welcomed it along with the promise of what was to be.
He moved over her, rekindling the fire that had burned within her earlier, and she sighed his name and moved her hips to match his movements.
He breathed her name in return and rested his forehead against hers; his movements becoming harder and faster, pushing her toward that all-consuming crescendo that she knew to be within reach now.
He grunted and gritted his teeth, his skin growing just as warm as hers. He reached between them and touched her close to where their bodies joined, sending her over the cliff of pleasure and taking him right along with her.
~Chapter Twenty-Seven~
The steady raindrops hitting the window were enough to put a man to sleep.
A beautiful and naked wife lying with her head propped up on her arm was enough to make him want to fight sleep for all of eternity.
He watched her from beneath his lashes as she let her eyes drift over his body, presumably assuming that he was asleep. But he didn't mind she was looking her fill. She'd done this before, the day after they'd married, except he'd still been partially covered. He'd shamelessly stared at her earlier and was doing so again now, his eyes fastening on her pert breasts. He hardened instantly, eliciting a small gasp from Laura as she jerked her head up and met his gaze, her face the color of her satin gown.
He tucked a tendril of her fallen hair behind her ear but didn't say anything.
“I—I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.” He brushed his fingertips over her shoulder. “I'm enjoying my view just as much as you are yours.”
“I didn't mean to stare, I was just...”
“You were just?” he prompted when it was clear she didn't plan to elaborate.
She blushed. “It's a puzzle.”
“I think it's supposed to be that way. We're supposed to fit together; that's why I have a pole, and you have—”
“I know that,” she cut in, giving his side a playful shove with her hand. It's just when I'm with you, it's not the same. You're built bigger. You're taller, you're thicker, you're...er...” She blushed and waved her hand in small circles in the air, presumably hoping it would defuse the discomfort of the moment, and then continued. “And yet, it doesn't hurt when we join.”
He took her meaning and frowned, his gut fisting. Would he ever drive the memory of that bastard from her mind? “I thought I already told you why that was.”
“You did,” she said quickly, licking her lips. “I just didn't realize how deliberate he had been.” The blush that stained her cheeks and the waver in her voice told him far more than her words had.
“I see. Well, if the field is tilled correctly, it won't matter the size of the plow.”
Her face fell slightly.
“What did I say?” He was trying to guard her pride and be mindful of her sensibilities, not upset her more.
She sliced her hand through the air. “It's nothing.”
“No, it's something,” he argued, his frown deepening. “Surely you didn't think I was being too arrogant. I've been far worse on too many occasions to count.”
“It's not that,” she said with a wobbly smile. “You're always arrogant, and in this case you have every right to be—in more ways than one,” she said, casting a fleeting glance to his penis. It's just—” she ran her fingers up and down the little stretch of green counterpane in front of her— “you didn't mean to, but what you said about tilling the field, it just reminded me that I'm barren. That's all.” She lifted her chin a bit but kept her attention focused on her fingers.
He studied her and, for the first time, noticed the hint of sadness in her hazel eyes and the worry lines that were faintly there by her eyes. She'd been dealt a difficult hand, indeed. “I don't mean to sound coarse or vulgar, but who told you that you were barren?”
“Nobody had to tell me. I was married for nearly a year and a half before my husband died; if I hadn't conceived yet, then—” She shrugged as if that were a perfectly acceptable way to end a sentence.
He fought the urge to scowl. That didn't mean anything. “Eighteen months, you say?”
She nodded.
“That's not very long, Laura.” He tipped her chin up so she'd be forced to look at him.
“Yes, it is.” The conviction in her tone was unmistakable.
“He had a bastard, didn't he?” Henry guessed.
“Yes,” she said on a sob. “Two that I know of.”
Henry pulled her into his arms. Had her insistence that eighteen months had been adequate time not been so strong, he might have suggested that the problem lay with her husband. And it still might, without knowing anything about the ladies who'd conceived, he couldn't know if they were the kind who might have had more than one partner. But he didn't want to upset her more by asking any other questions. Instead, he just held her, skin on skin.
“
I know you might not believe me, but your lack of conceiving right away doesn't mean you're barren. Some ladies have a harder time, but they're still capable.” He gently scratched her back. “My mother conceived within her first year of marriage but then didn't have Elijah and me for eight years, with no miscarriages or stillborns in between. It was another six years before she had my sister.”
“Perhaps your parents didn't...”
A sharp bark of laughter escaped his lips. “Do you not recall the wild goose chase story? I cannot tell you how many times I caught them kissing when they thought nobody was around or finding some way to sneak off together. The spaces between their children were nothing more than nature taking its course. And for that, Elijah and I are eternally grateful, because had we been closer in age to Alex, we, too, might have been made to study science every waking hour.” He shuddered.
“You don't like science?”
“Not like Alex does.” He reached for her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. “He and our father had a love for plants and trees and stars and theories that's unnatural. It's truly amazing that either of them was able to find a wife. Not that Caroline is much better.” He shook his head. “You'll see what I mean soon enough, I expect. But that's not what we were talking about.”
She eased her hand from his and traced the edges of his lips with her index finger. “It's all right, Henry. We don't have to speak of my condition. I accepted it long ago.”
Even his obtuse brother Alex couldn't have mistaken the sadness in her voice. “I don't need a son, Laura,” he said, hoping to assure her that even if her assumptions were correct, that it wouldn't change anything between them. “I don't have a title or a legacy to pass onto him, anyway, so it's not of any great import that I have an heir.”
“You might not have those things today, but it doesn't mean that you won't have them one day.”
“Well, I pray I never have a title. If I somehow manage to end up with one of those, it would be the saddest day of my life, for it would mean that not only had my eldest brother Alex died, so had his heirless boys; and upon my inheritance, it would mean that Elijah and any son he might have had passed without male issue, too. I pray that never happens, for it would not be a happy occasion. As for a business—” he turned his lips into an overdone frown— “it can go to one of my nephews.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “And do not doubt me for one minute when I say, between my three siblings, there are already a growing number of candidates, one or two of whom are already vying for the honorary title of my favorite nephew. So have no fear, Mrs. Banks; any legacy I build will pass down to someone I love dearly. It will just be an added boon if he's born of my seed, but it won't make a whit of difference if he's not.”
A weak smile bent her lips.
“Now that we have that established, shall we get dressed and continue our tour?”
“Where else is there to take me?”
“The portrait gallery. I just know you will want to see all the portraits of the uncles I never met.”
“Never met?”
He nodded and idly combed his fingers thought her hair. “Uncle John is the only one I've ever met. There were two who died as boys, and two other brothers who fought against your kinsmen during the rebellion. They returned, but one died from an infection he got when an old wound reopened and the other caught lung fever the year before I was born.” He shrugged. “Seeing their portraits won't alter your life by any means, but seeing mine might.”
She grinned. “All right, we'll go, but only if you promise we can return here after we see all of the paintings.”
Heat coiled in his gut and his blood simmered. “You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Banks. But if it's the only way I can get you to agree to visit a room filled with portraits of my dead ancestors, I suppose I'll just have to give in to your demands,” he said with a grin.
Her seductive laughter filled the air. “If you think that's a demand, you just wait to see what I ask you to do when we come back.”
“I can hardly wait.”
~Chapter Twenty-Eight~
“And this, is my brother Alex, the current Lord Watson,” Henry said, gesturing to a portrait of a dark-haired, dark-eyed, bespectacled young man.
Laura looked back and forth from the portrait of Henry's eldest brother to the portrait of the blond man to its right, that of Henry's father. “You and Elijah favor your father and this brother must favor your mother.”
“He does,” Henry agreed with a nod, his gaze lingering on the image of his father.
On impulse, Laura reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers. For a moment, it was as if they were both grieving in their own right, he for his father and she for hers.
He squeezed her hand and turned his eyes to her, a new spark suddenly present. “Say, did you ever meet any of my cousins in New York? They moved away not long after you married Mr. Swift, but I do believe they were acquainted with your husband.”
A lead weight settled in her stomach. “I've met them,” she said quietly. She couldn't lie about that.
“Do you happen to remember Madison?”
Laura nodded numbly and her palms were suddenly damp with nervous sweat. She remembered her all right.
“Madison was the one who painted Alex's portrait.” He pointed to the bottom corner where her name was penned.
“Oh,” Laura said, leaning forward to give the obligatory glance at her signature as Henry wanted her to do. “I didn't realize her name was so long.”
Henry chuckled. “'Madison Collins, Her Grace, Duchess of Gateway', is what all that scribbling says. Her husband insisted she sign it that way.” He shook his head. “A man with a healthier dose of calf love, I've never seen.”
His words sank in and Laura stood still, waiting for that bitter, jealous feeling to wash over her as it always did when she heard the name Madison Banks, now Madison Collins, Duchess of something or other. But the feeling didn't come. Her blood didn't pound and her vision didn't go blurry. Bile didn't rise in her throat and her heart didn't feel as if it was being crushed under the weight of a boulder. Nothing. Nothing except shame. Shame for her own petty jealousy. Shame that she'd hated this woman so much she'd traveled over an ocean to confront her and throw her sins into her face, hoping it would make her life as miserable as Laura's had been.
Flames licked her face. She'd already determined it wasn't Madison's fault that Robbie had been unfaithful and left her. But the realization of exactly what she'd done, with the intent to hurt another human, hit her all at once and she was going to swoon.
Henry snaked an arm around her to support her. “She must have made one hell of an impression on you,” he murmured. “Let's go to the library and sit down.”
By the time they reached the library, she was able to stand on her own, only to be nearly knocked off of her feet again when Henry swung open the door to reveal a lady with a large yellow gown fanning out around her as she sat upon what Laura hoped was her husband's lap and had her lips pressed to his.
“Alex, Caroline,” Henry greeted as he led Laura into the library.
“Henry,” Caroline said with a smile and a blush, removing herself from her husband's lap while he just sat there, blinking.
“Don't you know how to knock?” the man she recognized from the picture she'd just seen said flatly, straightening his clothes and not bothering to stand.
“I didn't realize you both had returned from London,” Henry said smoothly, ignoring his brother's question.
“Yes, well, as it turns out, Madison is breeding—again; and apparently someone has remarked upon her increasing size, so Benjamin plans to cut their stay short and take her home. Which means we have to have the party now,” Alex shook his head. “I swear between her and Brooke, they'll fill this side of the country with their brats so rapidly they'll be forced to found another school just to support their broods. Perhaps I should talk to Benjamin about what causes that.”
“He knows,” Henry said flatly.
“But perhaps someone needs to have the same conversation with you. It's not as if you haven't sired a few brats yourself the past five years.”
“Yes, well, this is all perfect timing really,” the man's wife inserted, two crimson flags on her cheeks. “Elijah sent word that he would be returning today or tomorrow, and the rest of the family has promised to be here the day after tomorrow. Now,” she turned her blue eyes to Laura, “who is this?”
Henry's face colored slightly and he briefly tightened his hold on Laura. He offered her a comforting smile that did nothing to ease her already frayed nerves. The rest of his family was coming the day after tomorrow? Including Madison? “It's all right,” he whispered, taking a step toward her. “Alex, Caroline, I'd like you to meet my wife, Laura.”
Laura didn't hear the part of the introduction that was aimed toward her. She'd already surmised their names, and now she couldn't help but keep from laughing at the way his eldest brother's jaw was hanging open and his eyes were once again blinking rapidly behind his wire-rimmed spectacles.
“Alex, tighten the hinges,” Henry said jovially. “It's not as if she's just beaten you in chess.”
Alex closed his mouth with an audible snap and then nodded once in Laura's direction. “Do you happen to play chess?”
“Say no,” Henry whispered in her ear.
“N-no,” she told his brother, casting Henry an awkward glance which he apparently was choosing to ignore just like his brother's question.
“For the best, I suppose,” Alex said with a slight nod. He gestured toward a vacant settee. “Come join us.”
“I'll ring for tea,” Caroline said helpfully.
Henry and Laura took a seat on the dark settee Laura's new brother-in-law had directed them to. She eyed his eldest brother, noting how his clothes were terribly askew, likely from the private encounter he and his wife had just been engaged in. She had a brief pang of remorse at their walking in and cutting it short, as she remembered she and Henry had been having the same type of encounter only an hour before.
