CHAPTER TWELVE
HENRY’S HEART WAS IN her throat as Barnabas carried her across his room. Pings of excitement ran through her, but just as quickly a sick fear filled her.
Was that it? Had she given up her virtue just by opening the door to him? A shiver ran down her spine.
He laid her on the bed and followed her onto it, the mattress shifting with his weight. She had to go back to her room before he started kissing her, or she’d never convince her wayward body to leave.
“I need to know you’re safe,” he said.
His words stopped her half scramble and half tangling herself in the spread she’d taken off her bed to cover her shift and corset. She was so thoroughly snarled she’d have to kick and fight to get free. But for a second she was more still than a stone. He was worried about her?
“So you don’t want to have your way with me?” She wished she could snatch the words back. She didn’t need every questioned answered.
“Of course I do.” He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her back towards him. His body against hers was solid and strong. “Your question is whether or not my intentions are honorable.”
Her pulse beat madly. She twisted to see his face. “You have intentions?”
“Yes,” he said gravely.
Of course he had intentions. It was a stupid question. She was in bed with a man. Half undressed. She knew what most men expected in these situations. Under no circumstances would that be considered proper. A wayward warmth spread through her even though she tried not to imagine what it would be like to be intimate with him. ”I think you have a funny definition of honorable.”
He traced a finger along the edge of her corset, leaving her breathless. “I have the usual definition.”
Her breathing turned shaky and the finger he was using to trace across her skin—really the tops of her breasts—sent tingles running through her. “I don’t think ruining me is honorable.”
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” He leaned in and pressed his mouth against her neck.
Little jolts pinged inside her. The trouble was a part of her wanted him to do everything to her. That didn’t make it right or smart and certainly not honorable. “Well, isn’t that the point of seduction? You make me want to do more than I should. Then I give in and you’ll regret it.”
He scrutinized her. “I won’t regret it.”
He’d hate her when he learned she was a reporter and that she was using him to get information to publish in the newspaper. She bit her lip and turned her head away.
He wouldn’t let her. His knuckle under her chin brought her back around to face him. “Henry.”
She met his eyes—his warm, serious, brown eyes. Even they made her melt a little more. At the same time warning bells trilled in her head.
“You do realize Lady Willingham will write my mother and tell her about you.”
“Why?” she blurted. She tried to reason out why Lady Willingham would mention her at all and came up blank.
“I betrayed my interest in you.”
Had he?
“But she saw me take notes. It isn’t as if you introduced me as anything other than an assistant,” she protested.
He gave her a rueful look. “Which means I shall have to introduce you to my family sooner rather than later.”
That was the last thing she expected him to say. Her mother had never been introduced to her father’s family. She’d sought them out. Although, maybe she shouldn’t have.
Her heart fluttered. Barnabas was saying the right words, promising a future together. Was he really interested in a life with her? The thought took her aback.
“I have never met a woman like you. Smart, inquisitive, with a burning drive to get answers.” His fingers skimmed along her throat evoking whispering sensations that were going to places they shouldn’t. “I find you fascinating.”
She flushed. His words pleased her, but they also made her uncomfortable. No one had ever found her fascinating. Or if they did, they revised their opinion once they knew her better. “There is a lot you don’t know about me.”
“I can’t imagine anything that would make me change my mind.” His forehead puckered. He shifted his hand to cup her cheek. “When that man had a knife at your throat, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”
“Yes, well nothing happened.” Maybe he was more vulnerable to overblown sentiment since she’d been attacked. Until a moment ago, she would have thought that her prerogative. She’d known he desired her, but she hadn’t realized he had moved into caring for her—or was it only a reaction to what had happened?
Admittedly all the time alone in her room, she’d just wanted to feel his arms around her to know that he’d keep her safe from harm. With the memory of how close she’d come to death, or at least great harm, had her wanting to know and experience more of life with him. “Tomorrow you might feel differently.”
“I doubt it. I have never felt this way before.” He rolled to his stomach and propped himself on his arm.
Her chest felt as though it had been filled with bubbles. He was implying he cared for her and wanted to care for her into the future. Did he love her? He hadn’t said the words. Nor could she demand them.
He looked at her mouth.
Would he kiss her? Her breathing deepened and her lips tingled in anticipation. Surely he’d carried her to his bed to seduce her.
She shook her head, trying to clear it. They were pretty words, but not a marriage proposal—not that a proposal really meant anything. She should protest. Demand he let her return to her own room, her own bed. But it wasn’t like he was kissing her or worse. Well, he was touching her, but he hadn’t made any move to unwrap her from the bedclothes.
His hand moved to cup her head and he stroked her hair. His touch made her want to lean into his hand. It was more affectionate than seductive, but that was almost worse. She hadn’t realized how much she missed someone caring about her until he did it.
“You’re so soft.”
She frowned. Soft wasn’t exactly a compliment to a well-upholstered girl. If he kept that up, she’d find the strength to go back to her room.
“Even your hair is incredibly soft.” He grinned boyishly as he swept aside the fringe on her forehead and pressed his lips there. “Don’t frown at me. It is a marvel, so smooth and straight.”
“The bane of my existence,” she muttered. She would describe her hair as flat and uncooperative.
He continued to stroke her hair and then her cheek, and he trailed a finger across her lips. Her heart skipped a beat and swirls of pleasure spiraled through her, tightening her nipples and tightening that private place.
“So what is it you think I could learn about you that would lesson my regard for you?” he asked, shattering the pleasure.
It was the moment she should tell him she was a reporter, the kind of person he considered the bane of his existence. But she couldn’t bring the words up. She’d even been writing her next article since she couldn’t sleep. It was laying on the desk in her room. Instead she stared up at him, vacillating between trying to run back to her room and telling him the truth. But how could she tell him? He would hate her.
She didn’t want to lose him, and she would when he learned she was a reporter. Unless what happened between them this night changed things between them.
*~*~*
Barnabas waited for Henry to respond, but she just looked anxious, her blue eyes wide. The gears were spinning in her head. She was probably trying to figure out how much to share. Obviously she didn’t fully trust him, and he was asking her to tell him something she was afraid would change his opinion of her. He’d draw it out sooner or later, so they could dispense with it.
He wanted to kiss her and the rest, but he didn’t want to rush her. He was a patient man. It was part of what made him a good investigator. He could out wait her reluctance. He was just glad she hadn’t made any serious protest about his carrying her to his bed. If she had, he would have had to return her to her room.
“Is it something to do with why you distrust the aristocracy?” he prodded gently.
Something like relief flashed across her face. “My father never married my mother.”
It was a surprise, but not really. Her bluntness amused him. She wasn’t one for adding sugar to lessen the bitterness.
“I trust your father was a member of the aristocracy?”
“The fourth son of Lord Darwood.”
She carried as much blue blood as he did. He had some hazy recollection about a gentleman older than his parents, but no memory of his family. But a younger son would often go into a branch of the military. Her father must have been designated for the Navy.
So her deep distrust for the aristocracy must spring from the way her father treated her mother and her.
She put a hand over her eyes. “So you probably won’t want to introduce me to your parents.”
“I don’t see how that changes anything.” His parents—his mother—would have enough objections about Henry’s background, legitimacy would be the least of them. In fact it might be a point in Henry’s favor if he could suggest she had a connection to someone with the right bloodlines. He gathered her close.
“My mother was far too gullible,” Henry said. “My father told her that they needed to be married by special license because he was about to ship off, and he had some friend pretend to be a clergyman. Or he paid someone. She thought she was married for the longest time. She never was the same after she learned the truth and my father abandoned us.” She squinted at him. “It doesn’t bother you?”
“I don’t see how you are responsible for the actions of your parents. Good or bad.” God, help him if he bore responsibility for his family members’ actions. He snuggled her closer against him and ignored the burst of heat in his loins as her hip nestled against him. “Anything else we should dispense with before we go to sleep?”
Her eyes widened and then hardened into a glare at the same time her cheeks pinked. He shouldn’t tease her so. But she obviously wasn’t expecting him to suggest they simply sleep in the same bed.
“I have one thing,” he told her.
“What?”
“If you get scared, I will stop if you ask it of me, but I would prefer you stay here in my bed the rest of the night.”
Her adorable mouth pursed. “You should just do what you will and not make me think about it, because this is a really bad idea.”
He sighed. Then gambled that Henry wouldn’t let it go. She wouldn’t like being accused of cowardice. “Then we should just go to sleep.”
He settled his head on the pillow and closed his eyes.
She gave a soft snort. “The whole reason I was awake and writing was because I couldn’t sleep.”
“I can help with that, but, Henry, later you can’t blame me for what happens.” He ran his hand down her one bared arm, then leaned in to kiss her shoulder.
She let out a shuddery breath and her skin prickled into gooseflesh. He knew he had her in the palm of his hand—even if she didn’t know it yet.
*~*~*
Henry was losing her sanity. With every kiss she fell deeper into a place that was all sensation. Every time Barnabas touched her in a new way she gasped or cooed. Yet, he took his time, his hands wandering all about before reaching their intended destination. His fingertips slipped under the edge of her corset three or four times, skimming her flesh, before landing on her rigid nipple.
Jolts ran from his touch to her private place. She nearly came off the bed. His lips curled into a grin against her mouth.
All she could do was grasp at his undershirt as he brushed his fingers across the peak. Then his hand was gone and she moaned in frustration. Her body was on fire, and she hungered for him in a way she didn’t understand.
He ended the kiss. “Like that do you, my little one?”
Words were beyond her. How could he even talk? She flattened her hand and smoothed it up over his shoulder. The muscled hardness she found sent a thrill down her spine. But he was pulling back and frowning down at her body.
Was she doing something wrong? A horrid fear tightened her chest and clawed at her. “Am I not supposed to like it?”
His gaze jerked back to her burning face, then his expression turned tender. He caressed her cheek. “I should hope so. I want you to like everything we do.”
“Then why were you frowning?”
“You’ve managed to cocoon yourself quite thoroughly in this bedspread. I have a feeling that if I tug you loose, you’ll go rolling off the bed.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She’d wrapped the cover around her three times. Once at her waist, and then at her chest and the last time over her shoulder to mostly cover her corset. “I didn’t want it to drag the floor.”
He peeled the top layer off her shoulder and yanked. She was propelled over the top of him as he freed her from the stifling spread. It made her dizzy to spin so fast, but he caught her.
“There we go.” Then he kissed her again.
She was lost to the swirl of sensation, the taste of him, the press of his lips against hers until she realized he was unhooking the busk of her corset.
She caught his wrists.
He stopped. “Afraid?”
Of course she was afraid. She’d be an idiot not to be. But she felt her jaw thrusting forward as if to deny the fear.
“Want me to stop?” he asked gently.
His concern wrapped around her. How was it she was such a quivering mess and he seemed so together, taking one measured step after another as if he knew when her resistance was gone? “Could you stop if I asked?”
“Of course. I am in control of myself.” He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose as if to reassure her.
She wasn’t. She’d lost control a long time ago. Control of her breathing, the sounds she made, and the way her body had gone liquid and soft. She would let him do anything.
She didn’t know what she was doing. “I want to make you feel like you make me feel.”
“You are.”
“Teach me how,” she whispered fiercely. Could she make him lose control?
His nostrils flared. “I will. Next time.”
What if there wasn’t a next time? “This time.”
“You’re doing fine. More than fine,” he murmured. “You’re enchanting.”
She removed her hands from his wrists and finished unhooking her corset. She lifted for him to draw it off to the side. It landed on the floor atop her bedspread that he’d flung off the bed.
She shook off her doubts. Tonight he wanted a future with her. He wouldn’t later and she wanted to know what it was like to experience his touch, his care, his promises—even if she knew they would dissolve all too soon.
He cupped her breasts in his hands and hot shivers ran through her. His thumbs teased across the peaks and she was lost.
His kiss was more urgent, the thrust of his tongue against hers rougher. He loosened the drawstring of her shift and pulled it down, baring her nearly to the waist.
“You are glorious.” He touched her almost reverently and then with more fervor. But he kissed her lower lip and stared her in the eyes. “And so damn adorable.”
He trailed kisses down her neck, lingering where her neck joined her body and at the hollow of her throat.
He stroked down her side with one hand and cupped her face with the other. Her breasts tingled in anticipation. Then he dipped lower, the weight of his body pinning her lower half as he kissed a trail down the outside of one breast and up and around her nipple. By the time he sucked the erect peak into his mouth she was frantic with anticipation. She had a hand in his curls and arched, trying to guide him.
He put a hand on her hips, and she realized she was wriggling.
“Don’t stop moving,” he whispered as he trailed to her other breast.
But she was too conscious of it now. And his hand was against her thigh, bare skin to bare skin. When had he reached under her shift and pushed up the leg of her pantalettes? His fingers were desperately close to the dampness seeping from her. Her heart thundered. She belatedly tried to close her legs but his body was there.
He slid back up and kissed her mouth again as if aware of her disquiet. Then she wanted his hand there to ease the building ache. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him, relishing the way his weight pressed her down. She tilted her hips to meet his hardness and he obliged by rocking his pelvis against her.
Bolt after bolt of pleasure ran through her and made her long for more of him, and less in between them. She tugged at his undershirt and stroked the skin underneath.
He bounded away from her and her first thought was that she’d done something wrong. But then he peeled off his undershirt and fumbled with the buttons of his straining trousers.
Sanity burst through the haze of her arousal. He might care about her, even love her a little, but he wouldn’t after he learned she was a reporter. It wasn’t fair to trap him into honoring promises made when he didn’t know the whole truth. “We should stop. I don’t think we should risk...any consequences.”
His fingers stopped moving and he gave her an incredulous look. Had she pushed him beyond his limits?
Her heart squeezed in her chest. “I don’t want to be like my mother.”
For a woman who made her living with words, she was being mighty clumsy with them.
His chest heaved with deep breaths and for a second she wanted to reach out and touch the lightly furred center above his heart. She couldn’t separate if it was physical pleasure or emotional commitment for her and that scared her worse than having a knife at her throat.
She’d known better than to fall in love with him, knowing he wouldn’t want her around once he learned who she really was. But was this love or desire or some toxic mix of the two?
He said nothing. Didn’t make a move.
She bit her lip and turned her face away. It might be too late.