by Emma Chase
She collapses onto the bench beside the grave, the indignation draining out of her.
“He’s going to hate me,” she whispers brokenly. “I’m going to ruin his life and he doesn’t even know it yet. He’s leaving behind a life he loved and I have nothing to offer him in return. Nothing he values. One day he’s going to hate me for that and when he does, it will shatter me.”
I step out of the shadows.
“I’m not going to hate you.”
Lenora jumps up from the bench, wiping at her cheeks. “You shouldn’t listen to private conversations! It’s rude.”
“I know. I’m a very rude man.” I take a step closer. “But I swear, I won’t hate you.”
I gesture toward the bench. “May I sit with you?”
She glances at the empty bench, then back at me, with an unsure nod. I sit down, leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees. Cautiously, Lenny sits beside me.
“I was angry when Thomas died,” I tell her softly. “At God and the world and the whole fucking universe. But mostly I was angry at myself. Because I should’ve been here.”
I look at his headstone, and it’s still raw, still wrong. My eyes burn and my throat is tight. “And I would’ve ripped my lungs out and given them to him to save him. But there was nothing I could do. Except promise him that I would care for you, protect you . . . marry you.”
Lenora stares at her hands in her lap.
“I don’t want to be an obligation to you. A promise you have to keep. The thought of it turns my stomach,” she says.
I shake my head. “But you’re not. It’s why I was already on my way back to you when the telegram came. Why I couldn’t stand to be away any longer. You are more to me now.”
Her eyes are two round pools of silver in the fading light of the day.
“How can you be sure?”
“You have to trust me, even just a little. You have to try. I’m a man who knows his mind. I know that I want you—that I’ve wanted you from the first. And if that means accepting the life that comes with you . . . then it’s worth it.”
Her delicate brows draw together.
“Won’t you miss it? Won’t you miss the freedom, the adventure?”
I chuckle and shake my head, because she still doesn’t understand. I put my hand over hers.
“Making a life with you will be my greatest adventure, Lenora.”
Her breath hitches in her throat.
“Oh . . . oh my.”
“I want us to start again,” I tell her. “Start over, better. No parliaments or titles or crowns or marriage arrangements. Let’s just be you and I—Edward and Lenora—two people who met in the forest. Can we do that?”
Her words are said in a tone I’ve never heard from her before. Unsure and vulnerable.
“I want to; I want that with you. I’m just not sure how we do that.”
“Then I’ll go first.” I stand and hold my hand out to her. “Hello, I’m Edward Langdon Richard Dorian Rourke. I’ve been to every continent on the globe. I’ve touched the bottom of oceans and the tops of mountains, and in my expert opinion the very best place in the whole wide world . . . is right here.”
Lenora stares at my hand, and ever so slowly she reaches out and places her small one in mine, playing along.
“It’s nice to meet you, Edward.”
I bow my head.
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
I take a seat on the bench and gesture for her to stand.
“Now you.”
“Oh, yes, right.” She stands, fiddling with her hands, and her pink tongue darts out, licking her lips. The Queen is adorable when she’s nervous.
“I’m Lenora Celeste Beatrice Arabella Pembrook. But you can call me Lenny . . . as long as no one is around to hear you say it. I’m a queen, so, you know, most days . . . I rule.”
I want to clap for her. Well done, sweet, funny girl.
“We should probably say something nice about each other now—a compliment. That’s what people do when they first meet, yeah?”
Lenora nods.
I look at her face and try to think of something she hasn’t heard a thousand times before. Something as true as the day is long.
“You’re the prettiest lass I’ve ever seen. The first time I saw you, I felt like I’d been the one thrown off a horse—you knocked me on my arse. You’re fierce and funny and the choices you’ve had to make haven’t been easy, but you’ve carried on. I admire that. I admire you.”
A shy smile kisses her lips when she takes her turn.
Her eyes drift over my face, my cheeks, my nose, my mouth. “I’m not going to tell you that you’re wickedly handsome, even if it’s true. I think you already know that. You’re brave and bold and more honorable than you let on. You fascinate me, even when you’re just sitting there breathing. You always have. I want to know you, Edward. Every piece and part that makes you, I want to know.”
It’s the best compliment I’ve ever received. Full stop.
I stand and offer her my arm—like a gentleman.
“Take a walk with me in the garden?”
Lenora slips her arm through mine.
“That would be lovely.”
The sky is darkest navy now. I guide her down the lantern-lit path, and the air is heavy with jasmine and rose.
“What’s your favorite food?” I ask.
“Shepherd’s pie. And you?”
“I’ll eat anything.” I shrug.
After a moment, Lenora asks, “What is your favorite time of year?”
“Summer. What about you?”
She grins sheepishly. “Winter.”
We stroll silently a bit more, until I ask, “Favorite color?”
“Yellow.” She tilts her head up to me. “You?”
“I’m partial to gray.”
Lenny stops dead in her tracks. And pulls her arm from mine.
“Oh no, I take it back—this will never work. Definitely not.”
I laugh.
“What did gray ever do to you?”
Her smile is small and secret—a pretty lock I can’t wait to open.
“It’s a long story.”
I move closer, and brush back a hair that’s come loose from her bun.
“I’d like to hear that story. Will you tell it to me?”
Our eyes meet, and it feels like the ground and the air and the stars shift all around us. Becoming something different. Something new.
“All right.” Lenora nods.
And I nod as well.
“All right.”
AFTER OUR TALK AT THOMAS’S GRAVE, things change between Lenora and me. Slowly . . . and yet not slowly at all. The closeness, the intimacy that’s been building, flows freer, easier—like the swelling bud of a flower whose time to bloom has finally come.
There’s no stopping it—and why the hell would anyone want to?
One afternoon I go to her office, because I see now the direct approach is better with her. Laying things out, discussing them fully—Lenny gets uneasy when she’s caught unawares.
And for what I have in mind, I want her very, very aware.
She looks up from behind her desk when I walk through her door without knocking.
“Hello.”
I dip my head. “Hello, Lenny. Are you busy?”
“Not so much. Just reviewing some documents.”
I glance at the clock on the wall and out toward the window.
“No meetings scheduled?”
“No.”
“Excellent.” I nod, then stick my head outside the door to tell the guard, “We’re not to be disturbed.”
I shut the door behind me. And then . . . I lock it.
Those gorgeous gray eyes flare so very wide, I feel it right in my cock.
Leisurely, like a cat stalking, I approach her desk, letting my gaze drift down over her butter-yellow chiffon top with its cute, prim collar.
“You’re looking very pretty today, Lenora.”
“Thank you. You look very pretty too.”
She giggles when she realizes what she’s said.
Sometimes I forget just how young Lenora is. How sheltered and unworldly. Inexperienced. But at moments like this—when the faintest blush stains her cheeks and the plump mouth that I dream about at night smiles so shyly—she reminds me.
“I’ve been thinking about something—almost constantly, actually—and it’s something we need to discuss.”
Her head tilts with curiosity. She stands.
“This sounds serious.”
My aching balls couldn’t agree more.
I sit on the cushioned chair, leaning back—watching her every move—while she moves to the sofa just across from me. Lenora sits prettily, legs crossed at the ankles, hands demurely resting in her lap like the gracious lady she was raised to be.
“What would you like to discuss, Edward?”
“Fucking.”
And she flinches so hard she almost comes out of her seat. I smirk shamelessly while she unleashes her fiercest scowl.
“Must you call it that?”
“I really must, love.”
“Why?”
“Because I like the word. I like the way it sounds—the specificity. The heat.”
“Can’t we refer to it as . . . the marriage act?” She seems proud of herself for having thought of it.
“God, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because ‘the marriage act’ sounds like something your great-grandparents did a hundred years ago. And no one wants to think of old granddad and grandmum when they’re talking about fucking.”
Lenny covers her face with her hands.
I take mercy on her. “We’ll come back to the names for things another time. We’re getting off topic. For now, let’s compromise. We’ll call it . . . sex. Or making love.”
She nods, agreeing. But her little hands are now clasped together so tightly, her knuckles are white.
“Lenora . . . are you afraid of making love?”
She looks down at her hands. “This is a very personal conversation, Edward.”
I make my voice go gentle. Soothing. “I’m going to be your husband. We’re going to belong to each other in every way. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. This is something I need to know for you, something I want to know.”
Her hands relax and her shoulders loosen, just a bit.
“I’m not afraid of making love. It’s just . . . unfamiliar. I don’t really know how it’s done properly.”
“You don’t know how it’s done as in . . . you don’t know how it’s done?”
I make a visual depiction with my fingers—forming a circle with one hand and penetrating it with the finger on my other.
And I’m rewarded with an eye roll and a quick chuckle. “No, of course I know the specifics of it. Dr. Hatchet explained.”
I pause. “Doctor . . . Hatchet?”
This is going to be a corker, I can tell.
“He was the personal physician to the King when I was twelve.”
I nod cautiously. “And he’s the one who told you about the birds and the bees?”
“Yes.” She swallows. “He was very thorough. He had diagrams.”
I nod again. “Of course. Diagrams are always helpful.”
Lenora narrows her eyes, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m mocking her. I keep my features utterly neutral, but it’s not easy.
“And how old was Dr. Hatchet?” I ask.
“He was . . . well . . . more than a few years older than Father. He was totally deaf on his right side and suffered from cataracts . . . and he kept forgetting my name. He retired the month after.”
Bloody hell.
“Didn’t your mother tell you anything?”
I always thought that’s how it worked with girls.
“After I spoke with Dr. Hatchet, Mother came to see me.”
“And what did she say, then?”
“She patted my shoulder and said it’s all much nicer than it sounds.”
That’s when the laugh escapes—can’t help it.
“Don’t laugh at me.” Lenora frowns.
I hold up my hands. “I’m not laughing, I swear to God.”
Her mouth puckers into a little pout. “You’re literally laughing in front of me, Edward.”
“I’m sorry.” I rub a hand down my face. “Truly. You just . . . you caught me by surprise.”
“Yes, that’s me,” she says dryly. “I’m just full of surprises.”
After a moment, I’m able to stop laughing. I clap my hands, ready to get to work.
“All right, so I’m thinking we should start slow. Talk over all the things that come before making love, that lead up to it. And then we’ll practice, so you’re comfortable on the wedding night,” I explain.
“Like lessons? I was always very good at lessons,” she says in a way that’s so fucking adorable, I may lose my mind.
“I bet you were, sweetheart. And these will be our . . .”
“Love lessons,” Lenora finishes.
“Yes, I like that. Love lessons.”
I half expect her to get a pad and pen from her desk to take notes. But she doesn’t, and that’s probably for the best if I’m not going to start laughing again.
“Right. So . . . sex usually begins with the eyes. Looking, gazing . . . wanting another person so much, your skin gets hot with the desire to touch them.”
“I think we’ve got that part covered.” Her voice goes airy. “I like looking at you, Edward.”
My smile is slow and full. “I’m happy to hear it. You’re my favorite person to look at too. After looking, you move to physical contact. Caressing a shoulder, holding hands.”
“We’ve done that,” she says huskily.
“Yes, and you liked the hand holding?”
“Very much.”
I look into her eyes and swear from the bottom of my heart, “I’m going to make sure you like it all very much. I promise, sweet girl.”
The faint blush comes again, but her smile is so tender and grateful, it steals the breath right out of my lungs.
“What comes after touching and hand holding?” she asks.
“Kissing.”
Her eyes go straight to my mouth. She stares with an innocent hunger, a pure, unexplored desire. And it calls forth a hundred images in my filthy mind of all the ways I want to have her, take her, push her, pull her, ride her—all the ways I’ll be able to very, very soon. The crotch of my trousers tightens and I’m hard as granite.
“Should we try it?” I ask.
I don’t breathe as I wait for Lenora’s answer. And then she says the most beautiful word in any language.
“Yes.”
FOR A FEW LONG MOMENTS, Edward . . . looks at me. It makes my stomach swoop and my skin hot, just as he described. Like I’ve been in the sun too long. Flushed . . . but everywhere.
It feels very . . . naughty.
“Have you ever been kissed, Lenny?”
“Once. A Belgian prince kissed me during a ball. He just sort of grabbed me and flicked his tongue around in my mouth, like a lizard.”
Edward curses.
“They tackled him and, you know . . .” I shrug. “Removed him from the country.”
There’s a glint in Edward’s eyes that feels almost dangerous, but in a good way.
“Is that it?”
“Yes. That’s it.”
He leans forward and his voice is different. Darker. Almost hypnotic—a commanding, alluring voice.
“Come here, Lenora.”
I blink at him, like a suddenly cornered owl. “Here? Now? You want to kiss me now?”
“I do. Very much.”
I glance toward the window. “But it’s the middle of the day!”
Yes, yes—I sound moronic. I’m aware.
And so is Edward. He smirks devilishly. “All sorts of fun can happen in the middle of the day. Come closer and I’ll show you.”
My
breath catches in my narrowed throat, and I don’t know why I’m so damn nervous. I’ve been present during the negotiation of military treaties with heads of state that could’ve ended in war, without batting an eyelash.
And yet, somehow, this feels bigger. More important.
I rise to my feet. But I can’t seem to make them move in his direction. At least not fast enough for Edward. Because he stands too and steps toward me with that large, loose, confident stride.
“Can I tell you a secret?” His voice brushes over me like the touch of a soft feather. Calming and smooth.
“All right.”
His eyes drift over my face, before settling on my lips.
“I’ve been obsessed with your mouth since the first time I saw you.” His hand cups my jaw and this thumb grazes my bottom lip. “How it would feel, what you would taste like. I’ve dreamed of your lips, lass.”
He wraps his arm around my lower back, pulling me closer until we’re pressed against each other—thigh to thigh, stomach to stomach, my breasts against the warm, solid wall of his chest.
Sensation pulses through me and it feels . . . wondrous.
Edward’s palm slides along, spreading across my hip, holding me, fingers clenching. My nose brushes the hollow of his throat, and I breathe in the warm scent of his skin—sun and sand and summertime.
“Don’t be afraid.”
I look up into his eyes, my voice a breathless whisper.
“I’m not afraid.”
My mind has finally caught up to what my body already knows. These strong arms . . . his arms . . . will always keep me safe.
Edward leans down and brushes his lips against mine, a gentle, sweet touch. And then again, firmer. And still again, grazing back and forth. His mouth is warm, his lips full. And my heart beats so fast I can feel it drumming against his chest.
I lift my chin, reaching toward him. And Edward kisses me again.
Thrilling joy and excitement, and burning, burning need all sing in chorus inside me. Edward’s lips engulf my bottom one, sucking gently, and a streak of heat blazes to my lower stomach.
I think I gasp or maybe moan. I don’t know if I’m breathing and I don’t care. All that matters is the glorious feel of his mouth on mine.
