by Madeline Hunter, Caroline Linden, Megan Frampton, Myretta Robens
She shook her head as she removed her bonnet and set it on the table. Right on top of the list that had her name on it. It had lain there for days with him unable to throw it away, as he should be doing. “No, nothing is wrong, or everything is wrong, depending on how you look at it.” She turned to him and he saw a wild, nearly frantic expression in her eyes. He locked the door.
“How do you look at it?” he asked, moving closer to her.
She lifted her face to his and smiled. Not the brilliant incandescent smile that Euphemia often had, but something warmer. Something softer. Something just for him. “I came here to ask you something.”
“Oh?” he said, feeling his whole body spark to life. He wouldn’t be coy, not to himself, and pretend he didn’t know what she was about to ask him. The question really was, what was he going to do when she did?
She took a deep breath and stepped forward so they were nearly touching. And then she did touch him, reaching her hand forward to place it on his chest. “I want you to do what you said,” she said in a voice so quiet he could barely hear her. Only he heard her loud and clear, like a bell setting off alarms all throughout his body. Especially there.
Although that was an odd image, so he wouldn’t think about it too much.
“Do what I said?” he repeated, his words coming out in a croak.
She smiled, as though she understood. And he knew she did. She was as uncomfortable in certain situations as he, and in this situation—which he presumed was this situation—neither one of them had any experience, so at least they were equal there.
“Do you mean about the gown and the stockings and such?” he asked in a low voice.
She nodded. “Yes. Please.”
He felt his chest tighten at how determined and vulnerable she sounded, all at the same time. Swallowing, he reached his fingers forward to undo the knot of her cloak, then slid it off her shoulders and placed it over one of his chairs.
Instead of starting with her gown, however, he knelt swiftly at her feet, sliding his palm over her ankle, feeling the delicate bones under the sturdy stockings she wore. Her boot was made of soft material, the footwear of a lady. She was a lady.
He paused, thinking about that, thinking about what it might mean if—when— he were to do this thing she was asking. It wasn’t as though he wanted to stop it. He wanted this more than anything, but he thought that this moment in time would change him forever. That she would ruin him for anybody else. Even though he was about to ruin her.
“What are you doing?” She sounded hesitant, and he glanced up.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
She bit her lip and he saw the pink flush wash across her cheeks. She was so perfectly pretty, he almost couldn’t stand it.
Good thing he was kneeling, then.
“Thinking we shouldn’t? That is…”
“No.” He spoke as firmly as he ever had, and that included when his sister had tried to use him as a mannequin when she first became interested in fashion. “I want this, more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.” And it was the truth, only he was worried he would continue to want, more than he’d ever wanted before, after as well. And forever, in fact. But she was a lady, and ladies didn’t marry bookkeepers, and he couldn’t dare jeopardize his sister’s livelihood.
First things first. He couldn’t think about any of that now. She was here, she wanted him, and damn his future if he didn’t want her back.
Chapter Ten
It felt so odd to be standing above him, to look down at him kneeling at her feet. Holding her foot and ankle as though they were precious things. His body was so large it obscured her view, so all she could see was him. His broad, strong back, where his hair curled close to his collar. She had a sudden urge to lean over him, to wrap her arms around him and press her face to his back. To breathe in the scent of him, all warm, and masculine, to bury her nose into one of the doubtless numerous muscles on his body.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she stood still as he undid her boots, placed them tidily on the floor next to her, then slid his strong, large fingers up her legs, making her shiver.
His thumbs were on the inside and his palms covered her legs entirely, the bottom of her gown coming to rest on his shoulders as he kept moving inexorably up.
What was it he’d said? “I would remove your gown from your body, and then when you were just in your shoes and stockings, I would kiss your feet and work my way up until I got to your mouth.”
“Aren’t you doing this the opposite way?” she asked in a voice she barely recognized as her own.
He looked up, one eyebrow raised, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “The opposite—?”
“Yes, when you said it, you said you wanted”—and she took a deep breath herself, wondering how she dared to say such things, but knowing she would regret it forever if she didn’t—“to remove my gown first, and then have me in my shoes and stockings. You’ve already removed my shoes,” she continued, nodding to where they were on the floor, “and I was wondering if you had decided to go about it a different way?”
He leaned back, resting his hands on his thighs as he continued to look at her. Her heart froze as she waited for him.
And then melted as she saw his mouth curve into a smile, a knowing, clever smile that sent shivers of want and need spiraling through her body.
“I did say that, didn’t I?” He rose, graceful for such a large man, then walked around her so he was in back of her, his hands at the nape of her neck.
“You know, people in my profession have to be methodical. Concise.” He undid a button and then placed his large, warm palm on her shoulder. “We also have to be very conscious about not wasting anything. Waste leads to too much expenditure, and that is exactly what bookkeepers are hired to work against. So if I should do one thing, such as this,” and then his hand lowered down her front to rest on her breast, his palm cradling it in his hand, “while also doing this,” he said, undoing more buttons with his other hand in what seemed to Katherine to be a shocking display of dexterity, “then I am definitely doing a good job.”
“Oh, yes, you are,” she replied, keenly aware of his every touch on her body, counting the buttons down as he undid them rapidly and efficiently.
“And now,” he continued, his voice more ragged than before, “now we will get you out of this gown and I can see you. All of you.” And the way he said it, as though he were reverent, and wanting, and passionate, made her feel a warmth throughout her body without the hint of embarrassment she’d always assumed she’d have in this situation.
Because she wasn’t anything like Effie, or any other of the traditionally beautiful women she’d seen; she was shorter, and more full-figured, and her hair was an unfashionable red, and her eyes were plain brown, and yet right now she felt as though she could eclipse any of those ladies. In his eyes, at least.
He slid her gown off her shoulder with his left hand, his right still on her breast until he reached up to her neckline, drawing the gown down until it puddled at her feet. Then he did probably the most surprising thing ever; he wrapped his arms around her and picked her up, as though she weighed nothing. He turned her in his arms and cradled her body against his broad chest, looking down at her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“And now I think I’ll take you to my bed,” he said in a soft voice, moving as he spoke. She wrapped her arms around his neck and reveled in the feeling of being carried, which she hadn’t felt since she was small. But the wonderful thing was, compared to him she was still small. She was nearly dainty when juxtaposed against his solid, large form, and she wanted to fling her head back and laugh at the joy of it, but she could hardly explain her amusement—I am laughing because I am a somewhat large female, and yet here you are carrying me around like I’m made of thistledown or something. It was not something she wished to remind either of them of. So she just smiled to herself and breathed in his scent as he lowered her gently onto his bed.
He frowned as he looked down at her, and she felt a moment of panic, but knew he wasn’t regretting this. Likely he was realizing that he hadn’t removed her chemise, which was an oversight of efficiency.
She sat up to kneel on the bed, raising the bottom of her chemise with one hand while steadying herself with the other against his chest. “I have to say, I am not as impressed with your forethought as I was before. I am not entirely and completely naked, Mr. Dawkins. Not yet, that is.” Then she pulled the chemise over her head and dropped it on the floor, resisting the urge to cover her breasts from his gaze.
And she was entirely glad she hadn’t, since his eyes had narrowed, his gaze even more intense as he looked at her. With passion. With want. With need.
“You should be entirely and completely naked as well, come to think of it.” She lay back down and made an imperious gesture. “Go ahead. Undress. I will watch.”
His hands went immediately to the buttons on his waistcoat, which was off in less than a minute. He yanked his shirt from his trousers and pulled it over his shoulders and then that, too, was on the floor.
She wished she could ask him to slow down so she could just look, but her mouth was dry and she didn’t think she’d be able to speak. His chest was more magnificent than she had even dreamed—a broad expanse of muscle and dark hair in a T-shape and then ridges lower down where his hips were. Dipping into his trousers as though they were an arrow pointing her in the right direction.
His shoes came off, then his trousers, followed by whatever he wore underneath them, and he was gloriously and completely naked, and she wondered if a woman could expire from having seen too much beauty at one time.
Because he wasn’t just tall; he was large, everywhere, and it looked as though his muscles had muscles.
“Come here,” she said, reaching up to him.
He looked shy for a moment, and she wished she could laugh at the ludicrousness of that—him, shy, when he had a body that was meant to be viewed and appraised and cherished and there was nothing for him to be awkward about, finally. Not when he was standing in all of his naked glory, each and every part sheer perfection. In her eyes, at least.
He put one knee onto the bed and hesitated, and she rolled her eyes and took his arm and yanked him so he fell on top of her.
“I don’t want,” he began, and she reached around him and grabbed hold of his—of course—firm arse and squeezed.
“You don’t want to crush me, and you’re not, Henry. You’re not. It feels amazing. Stop worrying.” She paused, and squeezed again. It was remarkable that two people’s same body parts could feel so different. “This is where it is excellent that I am … sturdy,” she said, after a hesitation.
“You are gorgeous,” he said, no hesitation at all. He stroked down her side, lingering near her breast. “All this luscious female in my bed, and I—I just don’t know what to do.”
She widened her eyes in mock outrage. “You don’t? Well, I certainly don’t either, so what will we do? I mean”—and then she lifted her hands from his glorious self and waved them in the air over his back—“that is, I have a general idea, but have you not done this before either?”
He smiled, a shy smile reminiscent of his awkward self. “No. I have not. Although as you say, I have a general idea.”
“Well, let’s try it out together. Just like our dancing practice, only—”
“Only far more enjoyable.”
He might not have done this before, but she couldn’t tell the difference; each and every one of his caresses felt perfect, and he couldn’t stop murmuring about how much he liked looking at her—“you’re beautiful,” interspersed with his mouth moving over her skin, “I want to do this forever,” and the best of all, “I cannot believe we are here doing this together, I never thought I would find anyone—” Only then he stopped, and it made her heart hurt.
Because she never thought she’d find anyone either, and yet here they were, but it was only temporary. Could be only temporary because of their respective obligations. She couldn’t jeopardize his family’s livelihood, and she knew he was aware of the disparity between them; he’d made that clear in his attitude toward Euphemia’s interest in him. So much that was different about them, and yet so much the same.
“Touch me.” His words were ragged and wanting, and yanked her from her thoughts, thank goodness. His male part was thick and hard against her thigh, and she reached down between them and put a tentative hand on it.
He hissed, and she made to remove her hand, only he clamped his fingers around her wrist. “Do not stop,” he said. “Like this,” he continued, and he drew her curled fingers up and down his shaft, squeezing so tightly Katherine was concerned it would hurt him.
But apparently it was doing the opposite, since his expression was intense, and full of desire, his eyes heavy as they gazed at her, his mouth slightly open allowing his panted breaths to escape.
“I need to,” he said, and she nodded, understanding precisely what it was he wanted.
“I need you to, too,” she said, guiding his male part toward her own Other Part, anticipating the moment with an almost feverish intensity.
He pushed, and she felt the pain of it, only it was a delicious pain, if such a thing were possible. His entire body felt as though it were tensed, and she grabbed hold of his shoulders and pulled him closer to her, which made him push all the way inside.
“Ahhh,” he said, sounding agonized. Only happily agonized.
She slid her hands back down to his firm arse and grabbed hold as he withdrew, but not entirely. And then pushed back in.
And that felt even more wonderful; she was crushed underneath him, yes, but it felt right, as though he were owning her, branding her, making it impossible for her to be anywhere but here.
As though there were anywhere else she’d want to be.
“Kiss me,” she said, and he did, devouring her mouth as he rocked inside her. It felt as though his part was making things happen down there, and she broke the kiss, unable to concentrate on anything but what he was doing, and how he was moving, and his whole massive self and this moment, and—
“Ahh,” she moaned, a rising intensity of feeling building inside her, a movement that felt inexorable to its finish, even though she had no idea what the finish would feel like, only—“Ahh,” she said again, only this time loudly on a cry as she reached wherever it was she was supposed to go, and she was so, so grateful she’d gone. That he’d taken her there.
His movements got more rapid, his body shifting and pushing in and out of her, his eyes closed, his jaw clenched, until he thrust and stayed there, shouting out his own pleasure.
And then collapsed on top of her without saying one word about his crushing her, and she smiled to herself that he had allowed himself that pleasure, that she had brought him that pleasure, so much that for once he wasn’t concerned about anything—not his size, not his awkwardness, not anything but this moment and them.
“Dear lord,” he said at last, his words muffled into her shoulder.
“Yes, indeed,” she said, kissing his jaw.
“That was—that was,” and then he stopped talking, instead just shaking his head.
“Yes,” she agreed.
Chapter Eleven
She’d been gone about an hour, and Henry still sat at his table, looking at the list he’d made before. The list didn’t matter, not now; now that he’d had her, felt what it was like to be with her, to share something so powerful, so wonderful, it didn’t matter. No, that wasn’t right; it did matter, but it couldn’t matter, not if he had any chance of finding happiness in his life.
He knew his sister would punch him and tell him to go on with it. That the shop would survive any scandal, if there was even to be a scandal. He just wasn’t sure Katherine—and he had to think of her as Katherine now, not Miss Grant, not when he’d been inside her, and felt her climax, and kissed all the parts of her skin he could manage, not when he’d held her full, round
breasts in his hands, and felt how soft and curved and delicious she was—would want to marry him. She was a lady, she was not of his world, and he would be asking her to give up so much to be with him.
Unless she became pregnant, which would be another reason entirely. Which, idiot that he was, he hadn’t even thought of. Mostly because he’d been incapable of thought.
But then again, she’d already proven herself to be a daring and enterprising and wanting young lady, coming here this afternoon with a specific desire in her mind, and acting on that desire. If she didn’t want him, she would tell him. She wouldn’t feel obligated, just because of this.
He nodded as he stood, feeling resolute about going to ask her—because he was going to ask her, not demand that she do the right thing by marrying him. He snorted at his own ridiculousness as he clapped his hat onto his head.
He would go, and ask her, and he hoped as much as he ever had that she would be as willing to forgo what was sensible to do what was right.
“Henry won’t be too upset, will he?” Effie said. “It wasn’t as though there was an understanding or anything. He knows well enough that my parents would never allow it anyway, I am certain that is why he hasn’t spoken before this.”
Lady Euphemia had returned from her drive with Lord Waddell, at which point the young man had spoken to her father, with the result that Effie was now an engaged young lady. Katherine couldn’t help the feeling of relief when she heard the news. It seemed there was now no impediment to her feelings for Henry—fine, Katherine, call them what they are, you’re in love with him—but it remained to be seen if he would want what she wanted. She rather thought so, them being in such harmony of mind, it seemed. But if he kept true to his course, remained awkward about who he was and what he was allowed to do—well, then, she would cherish this afternoon as a sweet memory and try not to think of what might have been if he had been less him. Although she wouldn’t change a thing about him, so that wasn’t fair.
