Always the Best Friend (Never the Bride Book 4)

by Emily E K Murdoch

  “And why, in our courting, have we stopped, may I ask?”

  Monty was grinning, reveling in the jest between them. Harry’s heart ached for it to be true, but she would play along for as long as possible. It was only playing with fire if she got burned.

  “’Tis difficult to have an intimate moment with the gentleman who is courting you when you are riding, is it not? You must stop, and ensure your beloved is close enough to you, is that not right?”

  She had arched an eyebrow to show him she knew it was all a joke, but Monty leaned closer to her. He was barely three inches away. She could smell him, a heady mixture of horse and Monty-ness, which she had never managed to put a finger on.

  Just remember this is a joke, Harry reminded herself as she tried not to lose herself in his gray eyes. A joke between friends. That is all.

  “And,” Monty whispered, his eyes never leaving hers, “what happens when I lean toward you?”

  Harry swallowed. Every fiber of her being wanted to kiss him. She must remain calm. Her fingers tightened on the reins as she whispered, “Well, that is a definite sign, between…between lovers that they want to…”

  Her voice trailed away, utterly unable to finish her sentence. She could kiss him, place her lips on his and not just tell him, but show him how she felt about him.

  His eyes darted to her mouth and lowered slowly to her décolletage. Her breasts were heaving from her labored breathing.

  His gaze had moved back to her face. Was she seeing things, or did his cheeks look flushed? Were his pupils dilated, his eyes wide?

  “Harry.”

  Monty breathed her name, and it was all she needed. She leaned forward to kiss him, unable to resist the lure of his tempting mouth.

  In an instant, Monty leaned back, laughing. “You know, ’tis a good thing we are not actually courting, or we would be exposing ourselves in public most dreadfully!”

  He continued to laugh as he nudged his horse into action as Harry tried to remember how to think clearly.

  “Indeed,” she managed. “Not courting.”

  She clicked her tongue at Black Beauty, who trotted forward to keep pace with Pegasus, and knew she would not be able to get that look out of her mind for many hours to come.

  Chapter Nine

  “You know, ’tis a good thing we are not actually courting, or we would be exposing ourselves in public most dreadfully!”

  Monty groaned and turned over in his bed, as though he could hide from the wildly stupid thing he had said twelve hours before.

  What a foolish thing to say! What a strange thing to say, and to Harry, of all people. It made no sense, for he had always considered himself eloquent, and here he was, spouting nonsense.

  Harry was within her right to laugh at him, but…Monty frowned, opening his eyes again and staring up into the gloomy bedroom.

  Yet, she had not laughed. She had not said much, just a quiet platitude that made him feel even more of a moron.

  Why had he said it? Why had it said it to Harry?

  Monty rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, the darkness of the night illuminated by a harvest moon. He never used to concern himself with what he said to Harry. She was Harry; she would understand him.

  But she was occupying a large portion of his mind recently, larger than normal. Something contracted in his stomach as her face seared into his memory once more. It was natural. He had seen so much more of her these last few weeks than he had for years.

  But that was not the reason her image rose to the top of his mind all day, even at the most inopportune moments, such as when he was discussing drainage with his land steward or harvest rights with one of his foremen.

  And she was Harry. And yet more than Harry.

  Something was different, and Monty could not put his finger on it. She was no different, not as far as he could tell. Still boisterous, loud, direct, and kind to a fault.

  So, was it he who had changed? He shifted, pushing the blanket further down, prickles of heat moving across his chest.

  It had all started to become strange when they had danced together at Almack’s.

  When he traced it back, that was where all the lines converged. They had danced together before, as children.

  Harry’s hair had been in ringlets, and she had laughed until she choked when one of the musicians had tried to play with his music sheet upside down.

  It had never felt like this before. Dancing with Harry had never felt like the floor was on fire, and the only way to stop being burned was to keep moving. There had been sheer joy between them.

  Monty closed his eyes and was immediately transported back there, back with the woman who was the one person he could be truly honest with.

  And today! Today had been, if anything, even more confusing. He had invited Harry on a ride to clear the air, to clear his head. Seeing her in daylight would rid him of any confusion which may have arisen from that dance.

  He had left Hyde Park more confused than when he had entered.

  If he had not had the great presence of mind to lean back at the right moment, he would have found himself in great danger of…of kissing her.

  Kissing Harry!

  The image, despite all his best efforts, forced its way back into his mind. Her chestnut hair, the silk of her riding habit, the curve of her collarbone as she leaned toward him, a perfect mirror of his body—of his desires.

  He had not been able to avert his eyes. From that mouth, he had never noticed before but had a perfect cupid’s bow and was reaching out invitingly. From her eyes, wide and shocked, but welcoming him in. From the way her breasts heaved as she breathed…

  Monty coughed. Something had affected her breathing.

  Shifting over to his side as though he could leave the memory on the other side of the bed, Monty swallowed. It was the story by Mrs. Bryant, no doubt. That must have been what it was. Harry had certainly been shocked by it, horrified even.

  God’s teeth, but that story had shocked him, too, but perhaps not in the way it had affected her. Those lines, innocent though they may have been, had filled his head with wild things, strange ideas.

  Ideas about Harry. Him and Harry.

  He could not remember the last time he actually used her name to address her. She was Harry. A lady he had barely noticed over the years, and yet in the last six and thirty hours, had become so uncomfortably aware of, that he was lying here in the dark, stiff as a board, and unable to take pleasure from it.

  From her.

  Shaking himself, he turned to lie on his back once more. It was natural to care for her; she was an important person in his life, meant a great deal to him.

  She and Josiah were some of his oldest and closest friends.

  Monty bit his lip. Now he came to think about it, was not Josiah often in the background of those childhood memories? Was it not always Harry at the foreground? Harry, his closest friend? Harry, the one who knew all his secrets, joined him in all his adventures?

  Friendship was one thing, and he would not deny it. But this? This felt like more. If he was brave enough to admit the truth to himself, it felt more like—

  Loud knocking interrupted his thoughts, and Monty’s eyes moved to the door. But that was not where the noise was emanating from, and as he sat up to look around, he could not help but laugh.

  The sash of his window was moving slowly, pushed carefully by a young lady.

  “Is this going to become a habit?” he asked in a whisper as Harry dropped lightly into his bedroom. “If so, I may as well leave a rock underneath the sash to ensure it doesn’t…”

  But he was unable to continue. Harry had straightened up, and his voice trailed away.

  Standing to the left of his bed, there was a strange look on her face. She said nothing, a smile dancing across her lips.

  Monty swallowed. That look on her face—it was not one he had ever seen before.

  They had never kept any secrets from each other. He had always been able to tell what sh
e was thinking, and she had read him like an open book since they were nine.

  But right now, Harry was a stranger to him. The harvest moonlight streamed in behind her, making her look like a Grecian statue. Beautiful. Cold. Distant.

  It was after these wild thoughts had swept through Monty’s mind, untamed and uncontrolled, he realized she was not wearing the riding habit he had seen her in earlier. She was not even wearing a gown.

  Harry was wearing a night robe, tied delicately with a cord.

  Monty’s stomach contracted painfully as the realization spread across his mind. Harry was wearing a nightgown under that robe. Just two thin and flimsy layers between him and…

  He shook his head, ashamed of the desire washing over him. God’s teeth, why was he thinking like that? Harry was like a sister to him. A sister he had never had, the woman he was closest to in the world.

  So why was his body reacting to her in this way?

  “W-What are you doing here?” Monty managed to say, hating the weakness in his voice, the crack of emotion and bewilderment he could not hide.

  Harry did not immediately answer, but her lips curved into a smile, which made his stomach lurch.

  Pulling himself into a sitting position, as though that would help somehow, he cleared his throat and tried again.

  “Harry, I thought—Christ in heaven.”

  The last words were unconscious, pulled from his mouth unwillingly as Harry, not taking her eyes from him, pulled at the cord on her robe and dropped it to the floor.

  She was completely naked underneath.

  Every inch of Monty clenched as his eyes drank in the wonder of her naked form. He knew he should look away, knew he should not be seeing what he was delighting in, knew it was wrong—but he could not stop looking.

  God’s teeth, but she was beautiful. Not just beautiful, perfect. Round breasts over a delicate waist, legs which went on further than he had ever dreamed.

  His body was on fire for her, and he could not speak, only admire. One thought managed to make its way to the top of his mind, and it was this: Harry was beautiful.

  She smiled. Why was his body reacting so strongly to her?

  Because, laughed his battered and weary mind, she is the very image of feminine perfection, and she is standing in your bedchamber!

  Who knew under all those clothes she wore, those gowns and pelisses and shawls, there was that body underneath?

  Monty’s hands clenched the bedsheets. It was time to say something, anything. Come on Monty, he railed at himself silently, his whole body on fire. Say something, man.

  “Arggh,” was all he managed. Monty swallowed and tried again. “Harry…”

  Stepping forward, she moved into a brighter pool of moonlight, and he groaned.

  “I wanted to do this last time I came,” said Harry quietly. “Last week.”

  In a strangled voice, which did not belong to him, he said, “Why?”

  What he wanted to say, what he was thinking loudly, was, “Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you show me this loveliness then?”

  How different the last week may have been if he had been aware that the beauty of her soul was equally matched by the beauty of her flesh.

  Harry did not answer immediately. Instead, she stood beside the bed. If Monty reached out, he would be able to touch her.

  A shiver moved through his body, and Harry’s smile widened.

  “Because I…I want you. And you want me,” she said.

  Monty swallowed, tasting the excitement on his tongue. It would be churlish to disagree. He had never wanted anyone like he wanted Harry. Did that soft skin feel as good as it looked?

  But it was not right—this could not happen! This was Harry. Harry.

  Young ladies, particularly titled and wealthy ones with their honor and reputation to uphold, did not climb trees into gentlemen’s bedchambers and offer themselves up on a silver platter!

  Monty coughed, as though that would rid his mind of his desires. It did not.

  “Harry, you do not understand,” he began.

  “I understand more than you think,” she countered. “Do you think I am ignorant of the way gentlemen and ladies make love to each other?”

  Monty’s manhood was hard, harder than it had been for months. In a strangled voice, he managed, “We can’t. We mustn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Monty laughed and moved his hands awkwardly to cover his manhood, which was surely visible through the bedsheets.

  “Because—because you are a lady!” he spluttered. “Because…what if you fell with a child? What if someone found out?”

  His throat was constricted, and he wanted to look away from her perfection, but he could not. He would not.

  Harry lowered herself to sit on the bed. Monty hated himself for wanting to reach out and touch her—and hated himself all the more for not doing it. When would he ever get this chance again? For surely, this was a dream or madness on Harry’s part. Would she regret this by the morning?

  Harry evidently was not regretting it. She was grinning. “I notice none of your reasons include not wanting to make love to me?”

  “God, I want to,” Monty breathed, unable to stop himself. “But do not—do not tempt me, Harry. We have known each other for—”

  “All our lives,” she interrupted. “You know no one better, I think. Have you never wondered?”

  “This will change everything,” he managed. “We can never go back after this. Our…our friendship will never be the same.”

  Her green eyes sparkled. “I know. But I can’t ignore this…this desire any longer. Can you?”

  His eyes met hers, and he lost himself in those depths. Harry had always known what she wanted, always—and she had always taken it.

  She leaned forward, her breasts swaying as she did so, and Monty’s fingers twitched. Saints alive, she was—

  Harry’s tongue licked her lips. “Kiss me.”

  Just two words were enough to make him lose complete control. Monty moaned in her mouth. God, she was so perfect. This was heaven, this was hellishly sinful, and he did not want to stop doing it.

  Kissing Harry was the best thing he had ever done, and she was kissing him back, and she was sweet as nectar.

  His hands moved without thought, pulling her closer to him, and the kiss deepened quickly as her tongue, nervous at first and then less guarded, moved to meet his own.

  She was so warm, so soft, so welcoming. It was all Monty could do not to pull her into the bed immediately and sink himself into her, but he had to keep control. He was not seventeen anymore, hard as soon as a gown walked by. He had to take control.

  “No,” he said desperately, pulling away and already missing the softness on his lips. “No, Harry.”

  “No?” Her eyes were wide, confused, her lips swollen with the pressure of his own. “You…you do not want me?”

  Monty groaned. “Christ and his saints, but that is not the problem. What…what if we created a child?”

  Harry smiled. Without taking her eyes away, she moved closer again, and Monty almost gave in immediately and reached forward to grasp at those precious breasts.

  Instead, her fingers found the handle of the drawer beside his bed and pulling it out, she removed one of the many preservatives he kept there for just such an occasion.

  Monty grinned. “How the devil did you know they were there?”

  She matched his smile with one of her own. “I am your best friend, Monty. You think I was not listening when you told me you kept French letters close by for any occasion which may warrant them?”

  He threw off the bedcovers and grabbed her, pulling her quickly onto the bed with him.

  She shrieked with delight and struggled, but only to give them both the heady pleasure of her skin writhing against him. Monty kissed her passionately, allowing his tongue to worship her, to explore her mouth in a way he had never wanted to before.

  Harry squirmed in his arms as the new sensations overwhelmed her, and
Monty gloried in the feeling of her. God, it was Harry, but it was a new Harry, a fleshy, beautiful, sensual Harry whose legs were entwined with his and whose breasts were pushed against his chest, driving him wild.

  It should have felt wrong. It should have felt like sacrilege to cross this barrier between friends and lovers. But it didn’t. If anything, Monty wondered wildly why they had never done this before. She was Harry, and she was his. He never wanted anyone else to touch her again.

  “I am going to give you such pleasure,” he whispered, his eyes looking deep into hers, “you will never want another man.”

  He had said those words?

  But this was different. He wanted to give her a night she would never be able to forget, one she would always remember.

  Perhaps even a night she would want to repeat.

  The heady thought was forced away by Harry’s eagerness to kiss him once more. Monty surrendered to the passion flowing between them, ebbing and peaking at different points as he guided her onto the bed, so he could nestle between her legs, her long hair falling around him.

  But this was his opportunity to show her just what he could do to a woman’s body. She said she wanted him? He would give her everything she asked for.

  Monty kissed her hard and allowed his hand to drift from her neck down to her breasts. As his fingers explored, teasing around her nipples, she jerked and moaned into his mouth.

  And she was not idle. Monty had to control himself carefully as her wandering hands moved across his chest, finding new ways to cause little shocks of pleasure.

  It was only when her fingers met his manhood that they stopped abruptly.

  Monty broke their kiss and smiled. “I won’t bite—not to hurt, anyway.”

  Her eyes were dark with desire, and she shivered with anticipation at his words.

  He swallowed. This was Harry. This was madness. “You…you can touch me, if you want.”

  Why did his voice suddenly sound so nervous? But it mattered what Harry thought of him. It mattered how she wanted to love him, whether she would—

  “Damn!” Monty shouted as Harry’s delicate fingers took hold of him and gently rubbed up and down his manhood.