“You did not come to see us—” she began, then broke off as she
realized just how much of her feelings she had betrayed.
“You have had so many admirers vying for your attention,” Henry
said, “I am surprised you noticed.”
The music had stopped. Around them the crowd ebbed and flowed.
Henry took her elbow and steered her gently off the dance floor toward the open
doors leading onto the terrace. Couples were strolling along its width, taking
the summer air, so fresh and cool after the overheated press of the ballroom.
Beyond the walls of the garden stretched the expanse of Hyde Park, falling into
twilight, the shadows gathering beneath the trees. The sky overhead was a deep,
dark blue, studded with stars to rival Margery’s diamonds.
Henry took a glass of champagne from a passing footman and
handed it to her. Margery took a gulp, feeling the bubbles burst on her tongue
and fizz up her nose. She almost choked and wondered if she would ever master
the art of being the elegant society lady.
“So, have you chosen between the dozens of suitors begging for
your hand?” Henry asked. “Fairness might prompt you to put them out of their
misery.”
“No,” Margery said. “I haven’t made my choice.”
“Do you intend to?” Henry asked. He had turned slightly away
from her, resting one hand on the stone parapet. “I remember you saying that you
saw no necessity for marriage. But perhaps—” he tilted his head “—that was just
with me?”
Margery hesitated. The simple truth was that Henry had gotten
into her blood so that she compared every man she met to him and found every
last one of them lacking.
“It is not that,” she said. “I have yet to discover a man—”
“Whose lovemaking you would find delightful?”
Margery gasped aloud. “My lord!”
The smile in Henry’s dark eyes deepened, making her feel
positively scorching.
“I want more from marriage than that,” she said stubbornly. “I
was going to say a man who loves me.”
Instantly she saw the expression in Henry’s eyes flatten and go
dark, and she felt desolation possess her soul. Secretly she had
thought—hoped—that he had come to find her tonight because his feelings for her
had changed. But they had not. She could see they had not and his next words
confirmed it.
“If you cannot find love in marriage,” he said, “why not settle
for desire instead?”
Margery heart was bumping against her cream satin bodice.
“Because I am not in the habit of settling for second best,” she said.
“There was nothing in the least second best about what we
shared that night,” Henry murmured. He took the champagne glass from her hand
and placed it gently on the parapet. Margery’s senses were so aware that she
heard the tiny scrape of glass on stone. She heard her own unsteady breath. She
felt the caress of the cool evening air on her skin and shivered at the contrast
of Henry’s touch, his hand warm on her bare arm above her glove. The intense
darkness in his eyes was so forceful that she felt trapped, captured and quite
unable to look away.
The terrace was momentarily empty. Henry leaned forward and
touched his lips to hers in the sweetest of kisses. His fingers brushed her
cheek very gently. Margery’s lips parted and clung to his. She felt helpless,
swept with sensation so powerful that she trembled. It was all over in an
instant. Henry released her and she stared at his face, so clear-cut in the
rising moonlight.
She cleared her throat. “This really is not fair, my lord.”
She saw him smile. “How so?”
“You know how,” Margery said. “You take advantage of my
feelings for you.”
“Let’s talk about it,” Henry said. He drew her along the
terrace away from the ballroom. The sound of the music and the crowd died away
behind them, falling to a murmur, then to quiet. Henry pushed open the door of
the room at the end and it opened with a tiny click. He waited for her to
precede him inside.
Margery hesitated again. She suspected that talking was not
high on Henry’s list of current priorities. She was scarcely that naive. Nor was
she coy. She knew the risk she was taking.
She cast one glance at his face, half nervous, half
anticipatory, but his expression gave nothing away. As she stepped into the room
he closed and locked the door behind them, pulling the heavy gold velvet
curtains closed against the night. The room was warm and intimate, lit by
candles and thick with long shadows.
Henry turned to face her. “I would like to renew the offer I
made you at Templemore,” he said formally. “I would like you to marry me.”
“Why?” Margery said bluntly.
She saw his eyes widen. It was always a pleasure to disconcert
Henry.
“You’re not a fortune hunter,” she said. “I know you are not.
You don’t want the money. So why would you marry me?”
“I want you,” Henry said. He was frowning now. “I need
you.”
There was tension latent in all the lines of his body. If it
had not been so ridiculous, Margery would have thought he did not truly know his
own feelings. But this was Henry, cold, dutiful Henry, who had no difficulty in
separating passionate lust and true love, because while he was masterful at
creating the first he never wanted to feel the second.
And need…well, need and longing and the other pretty words were
all very nice but they were not love. This was a declaration of sorts, but it
was still not enough for her. Perhaps she was wrong to ask for the whole world
when Henry was offering her more than he had ever offered before. But still, she
would not settle for less than everything.
“No, thank you,” Margery said.
“You are always direct,” Henry said.
“I don’t want to waste your time,” Margery said politely.
Henry’s gaze appraised her, making her feel quite faint. “I
doubt that you could do that,” he said with a slight smile. He took a step
toward her. It was a very purposeful step. Margery took a step away. She backed
up against the enormous mirrored display case containing the china that had been
a wedding present to her grandparents from King George II. Her palms pressed
against the cold glass.
“You can’t seduce me here,” she said.
“I beg your pardon,” Henry said, still immaculately polite.
“But I can.”
Margery’s stomach dropped in shock, her lips parted on a gasp,
but before she could speak he had covered her mouth with his own. He kissed her
with deliberation, purpose and a fierce control that was intensely exciting. It
told her that he was determined to gain what he wanted and he would brook no
refusal. The kiss, relentless in its demand, sent spikes of awareness instantly
coursing through her. Margery’s insides turned to liquid fire. She felt shame
all the way down to her perfidious soul that she was so susceptible to him and
then, less than a split second later, she felt a burst of wicked anticipation
replace all other sensation.
The kiss deepened, then deepened again. Margery felt as though
she was falling into it, powerless to stop. She had been denying her feelings
for weeks, starved of Henry’s touch, and now she was lost as love and desire
fused into one. She was captivated by the passion that flared between them, so
sweet and hot. It called to all that was wild in her, brazenly reminding her of
how it had been between them at Templemore.
When Henry raised his head, they were both panting and Margery
felt hot and alight with the desire that shimmered around them. Henry’s hands
slid down her arms to clasp her lightly by the wrists. She thought he would kiss
her again then but he did not. His gaze searched her face and it felt like a
caress, as though he was committing every feature to memory.
“I made a mistake at Templemore,” he said softly. “I let you
go. I won’t do that again.”
Margery’s heartbeat increased its pace even further. “You don’t
love me,” she said stubbornly. “You want me but you do not love me and I will
not marry a man who does not love me.”
Henry leaned in; his breath feathered softly across her cheek.
“I could persuade you to change your mind.”
She was afraid he could, that in the heat of the moment she
would forget everything but her love for him. Her knees trembled. “I am not open
to persuasion,” she said. “You cannot seduce me into agreement.”
“Let’s test your willpower then.” He captured her lips with his
again and slid his tongue into her mouth. The dance began again, fevered and
deliciously sweet. There was an edge of something fierce and blistering to the
kiss now and it spun out until Margery’s head was whirling and her body felt
heavy and languorous and there was such an ache between her thighs. She wanted
him. The love she had for him felt huge and overwhelming, painful in its
intensity, dazzling her. She fought for control, fought for even some grain of
sense.
“Someone will notice we are gone,” she whispered. “They will
know.”
She felt Henry’s fingers on the thick cream ribbons that
fastened her bodice at the front and matched the intricate embroidery on the
sleeves and hem. He was loosening the ties. Her body quaked at the knowledge of
what would happen next.
“There are two hundred and fifty people here tonight,” he said.
“No one will notice you are gone. They will all assume you are talking to
someone else, hidden in the crowd.”
Henry slid his hand into her chemise and drew down the fine
silk. It slipped from Margery’s breasts and he pulled her bodice wide, leaving
her naked to the waist in nothing but the Templemore diamonds. He spun her
around so that she had her back to him, facing her reflection in the mirrored
display case. His hands were hot on her bare waist.
The room was warm but Margery shivered violently. The
candlelight caught the diamonds and shimmered in a glittering cascade of light,
reflecting her image back from the mirrors; her eyes wide and bright, her lips
stung red from Henry’s kisses, her cheeks flushed pink, the scatter of freckles
across her bare shoulders, the diamonds heavy against her hot skin, her nipples
small and tight, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she tried to steady
her breathing. The beautiful cream-and-silver gown was about her waist, the
ribbons trailing. It looked so innocent in its pale allure and she looked so
abandoned, half-naked in it.
She heard Henry’s breath hiss in between his teeth. “I remember
how arousing you find precious jewels,” he said.
One of his hands held her still, facing the mirror, with him
braced behind her. His other hand closed warm and hard over her breast. Margery
felt her legs tremble.
“Don’t cry out,” Henry whispered. “And don’t close your eyes.”
His lips were against the skin of her neck. He squeezed her breast gently,
taking the nipple between his finger and thumb, teasing and tugging until she
ached with carnal pleasure. The diamonds flickered with each unsteady breath she
took.
She tilted her head back shamelessly to give Henry greater
access to the tender skin of her throat and arched her breasts to his hands as
they plucked and tormented. Desire rolled over and through her in a great
shuddering tide. She closed her eyes in wanton delight and Henry’s teeth nipped
her neck in a silent order to open them again. She watched, her gaze slumberous
as he caressed her, one hand still at her breast the other sliding low now over
the plane of her bare stomach.
“I won’t give in,” she said. Her voice was a broken whisper.
She could scarcely believe that he walked straight back into her life and that
she was here with him, like this. “I won’t agree,” she said. “I won’t marry
you.”
Henry gave her the tiniest of nudges forward and she almost
fell, bracing herself at the last minute with her palms against the flat top of
the glass case. She felt him move behind her.
“My gown—” She forced the words out against the beating of her
heart. “Everyone will see the creases.”
In response he tossed her skirts and petticoats up about her
waist so that they frothed over the surface of the cabinet. His fingers were at
the gap in her drawers. Margery gasped in shock. She had not really thought he
would dare to make love to her here, now. It was too shocking to comprehend and
yet so blissfully, so terrifyingly what she wanted.
“How?” She could barely get the word out. Her insides tumbled.
Her whole body washed with heat. She was shaking. Only the brightly lit glass
under her palms held her steady.
“I’ll show you.” He spoke softly in her ear. “Trust me. And…”
There was wicked amusement in his voice. His fingers brushed the inside of her
thighs, inside the drawers. “Don’t break the china. That would be very difficult
to explain.”
He had found the core of her, moist and damp, and his fingers
slid over it and then inside her. Margery shook all the harder, flattening her
palms against the glass, stifling her moans as he explored her slowly,
deliberately, seeking out the most sensitive places, stroking, drawing out her
pleasure until she was drowning in the most tortuous rapture imaginable.
“I will have you,” he whispered and she knew he meant in
marriage as well as here and now. She sensed the absolute will in him, the
determination and beneath that the hunger and the need. It was almost enough to
convince her. But it was not love. She struggled to hold on to that thought,
fighting wave upon wave of pure carnal delight that lapped at her and threatened
to steal her very will.
“I will not marry you.” Her voice was a mere thread.
His fingers paused in their caresses. She gasped.
“Then do you wish me to stop now?” He still sounded amused.
“No!” She could not stop herself begging. “Please,” she said.
“I want—” She bit off the words. She hung on the very edge of pleasure, cursing
him. She felt her body twitch; so did Henry, and he gave her one small stroke.
It was not enough. It was not nearly enough. Her hips jerked. Henry laughed and
brought one hand up to her breast, squeezing so that the unendurable pleasure
racked her again.