The Seduction of an Earl (12 page)

Chapter 8

The Newlyweds on a Long Ride

Henry glanced at Hannah. She sat on the other side in the coach, facing the direction of their travel while he sat opposite. Her gaze was directed at something beyond the window. They had barely looked at one another the entire morning, each of them stealing glances at one another and then quickly averting their eyes should one be caught staring by the other. Their conversation had been stilted, so uncomfortable at one point that Henry thought Hannah might cry. So he had dropped the subject of her possible need for warmer gowns and a mantle in favor of silence.

Well, it would have been silent in the coach had Harold MacDuff not been sprawled on the floor between them. The dog’s snoring was sometimes so loud Henry was sure he once saw Hannah grin before covering her mouth with a gloved hand. She was beautiful when she grinned like that, as if she harbored some secret to which only she was privy.

Actually, she was beautiful with any expression on her face, Henry decided.  

Every time he thought to stretch out his long limbs, his boots ended up nudging the hairy beast so that it would lift its head suddenly and snuffle and snort in surprise. Earlier that morning, Henry had thought to simply leash the dog to the back of the coach, but realized very quickly the dog wouldn’t have been able to keep up with the coach-and-four as it made its way out the Great West Road for the seventy-five mile trek to Gisborn Hall. And then he wondered if the dog could sit up on the box with the driver, but one glance at the size of the box, and another at the size of Harold, and Henry realized there would be no room for the driver. Perhaps Harold could be relegated to the older carriage that would follow with the rest of Lady Hannah’s trunks and her maid the following day, but with the volume of stuff still being packed and loaded onto that conveyance, Henry wondered if there would even be room for Lily. He’d spied the maid when she was hurrying about with an armful of gowns, sure he had seen her somewhere before. But his attention had been diverted and the chance to ask about her passed.

In one of her few comments that morning, Hannah suggested the dog ride inside the coach for the sole purpose of keeping her slippered feet warm. “A hot brick won’t be necessary, my lord,” she’d assured him when he was about to order a servant to have one brought out from the kitchens. “Harold serves the purpose quite effectively.”

Henry found he had to agree. Good God, the dog was huge, covering nearly the entire floor of the coach. Having realized his own feet would be far warmer if he sat with Hannah and placed his feet next to hers under the back of the dog, he was about to ask if he could do so when he realized Hannah was turning in his direction. Not wanting to be caught staring, he quickly turned his head to look out the window.

Hannah stole a glance in the direction of the earl, sure his gaze had been directed at her, and then, suddenly, it wasn’t. He was looking out the window to his right, she realized as she dared a longer look. His profile was quite striking, she thought, with its strong nose, square jaw and wide chin. His neatly trimmed almost-black hair included one forelock that seemed determined to curl above one eyebrow, and despite his having shaved that morning, there was already a hint of dark shadow along his jawline. A quick glance might have the viewer thinking him a rogue or even a highwayman.
My husband
, she thought for at least the tenth time that morning. So handsome, so tall, so ... uncomfortable. Despite the roomy interior of the new coach in which they rode, Henry Forster seemed somehow scrunched into the squabs, his limbs too long for the leather seat and his torso too tall for the seat’s back. And then Hannah noticed how his knees had to bend so that his feet could take purchase on the floor next to Harold’s sprawled mass. “Oh, goodness, my lord. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable sitting on this side?” The words were out of her mouth before she realized she’d said them, and she wondered if she had made a mistake in suggesting he share the seat with her. Would he think her fast in suggesting such an arrangement? She had to suppress a giggle.
I am his wife, not some chit fresh out of the schoolroom
, she chided herself. She struggled to think of what to add when she saw his startled expression, as if he was surprised she had the ability to speak. “Then you could put your feet under Harold. Keep them warm,” she added, resisting the urge to roll her eyes when the reasoning sounded lame to her own ears. Harold raised his head at the sound of his name but allowed it to plop back down onto his front paws when he realized he wasn’t being addressed directly.

Hiding his astonishment at his wife’s insight, especially at the very moment he was thinking the very same thing, Henry nodded. “If you would not mind, my lady,” he answered quickly, moving carefully to step over the dog and reposition himself on the bench seat next to Hannah. To be facing the direction of travel was a relief; he despised not being able to see ahead, even if it was through the windows, as they made their way west toward Oxfordshire.

“Not at all, my lord. I should wish for your comfort, of course,” Hannah replied shyly, one gloved hand gathering her skirts so they were no longer spread out across the seat. She left the hand resting on a thigh, not wanting to appear as if she couldn’t sit still.

Henry settled himself into the squabs and let out a sigh of relief as his limbs stretched a bit. Warmth crept into feet where his boots were tucked under the dog. “Thank you, my lady. This was an excellent idea,” he said, placing a black-gloved hand over hers where it rested on her thigh.
So tiny
, he thought as his fingers curled slightly. If Hannah was surprised or made uncomfortable by his touch, he could not sense it in her hand.

Hannah had to suppress the start she felt at his hand closing over the back of hers. The heat from his palm actually permeated their gloves, leaving her hand bathed in comforting warmth. She wondered if she would feel that same warmth when their bodies were pressed together in their marriage bed. A frisson passed through her body at the thought. She should already
know
how it felt to have him next to her in bed. He should have been
in
it last night! Why hadn’t he simply bedded her when he had the chance? She’d been quite ready for him, her white-blond hair loose and brushed to a gleaming shine, her new night rail clinging to her slight curves, her feet encased in daring half-slippers that displayed her toes. She’d made sure the maid was gone and the bed linens were turned down. Having been told what to expect by her friends who were young matrons, especially by Elizabeth, she was quite prepared to be ravished. Then Henry had come to her door, and instead of coming all the way in, he’d stood there on the threshold acting like some shy boy barely out of Eton attending his first ball and telling her he was very glad to meet her, but could he reserve a dance for the next ball instead?

She’d almost said, “Of course not. You’re here. Dance with me now!” Or something to that effect.
How dare he?
It was their wedding night. He should have claimed what was rightfully his right then and there. At least he’d had the decency to kiss her, although the slight pressing of lips could hardly be called a kiss. But then he had kissed her more deeply, and used his hands to great effect on her body. And then he had pleasured her quite thoroughly – her body seemed to quake even now as she remembered the sharp sensations he’d created with his caresses. Who knew a man’s hands could deliver so much pleasure?

Elizabeth knew, of course. Hannah couldn’t keep herself from blushing at the thought of some of the things George had done to Elizabeth. The woman had described them in detail, all the while seeming to re-experience the sensations she’d felt when he’d created them in the first place. George had probably pleasured her to within an inch of her life before they had even wed! 

Blast and damnation
! Hannah had been
ready
for Gisborn last night. After traveling seventy-five miles in a coach over roads that were proving a bit rough, she rather doubted she would want him in her bed tonight! And then she wondered if she would even have her own bed, or if they would always share a marriage bed. Nothing had been said as to the sleeping arrangements at Gisborn Hall.

Chancing another glance in his wife’s direction, Henry couldn’t help but notice Hannah’s delicate features, her skin so smooth and pale and fine it was almost translucent, eye lashes so long they seemed to collide with the tops of her cheekbones with every blink, lips that were full but not too large – kissable lips, he thought. He’d wanted desperately to spend the entire night kissing those lips, kiss them with far more passion than the simple kisses he’d placed on them when he came to bid Hannah good night. She’d looked ravishing in her night clothes, the thin fabric of her nightgown barely hiding her ...
charms
. And her hair ... he’d had no idea she had such long, lustrous hair. He wanted nothing more than to step into her bedchamber and strip her bare and slide his hands over her breasts and bottom and spread her legs and take her virtue as was his right as her husband. But the idea of taking her maidenhood in her own bed, the bed she’d probably slept in every night of her life since being out of the cradle – it seemed
wrong
, somehow. Had he taken her virtue, she might be left feeling sore. Given their long coach ride back to Oxfordshire, he considered she would be uncomfortable the entire trip. There was no use putting her through that. It might be a week or more before she would allow him to bed her again. And, truth be told, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to muster the courage. The effects of the champagne served just after the vicar declared the couple legally wed had long since worn off. So, instead, he had allowed his hands to wander and his lips to take hers more so he could keep her cries quiet than to impart any meaning to it.

But something had happened.
Lust
, he told himself. His body – the traitor – had made it clear he should be with his wife. Even now, he wondered at the sudden and glorious sensation he’d felt as Hannah’s pleasure crested, as if she was determined to take him along on the wave. But the thought of bedding his new wife made him feel as if he was betraying Sarah.

He’d only ever been with Sarah. His modest income prior to his inheritance hadn’t afforded him the life of most gentlemen. He didn’t have the funds to gamble or spend his nights in brothels, and there certainly wasn’t enough to hire a mistress, not that he ever wanted to. He had Sarah. She was the mother of his child. She was everything he had ever wanted in a wife. Damn her for thinking she wasn’t good enough to marry him!

“Why didn’t you take my virtue last night?”

The question, tinged with what might have been anger and probably some hurt, rang out in the suddenly cramped coach, a shock to the three sets of ears that heard it. Harold lifted his head and cocked it to one side, regarding his mistress and her look of utter astonishment for a full five seconds before realizing he, for once, wasn’t the one being accused of some wrongdoing. Henry, who had sat very still for that full five seconds and displayed the look of the one being accused, slowly turned to find his wife’s hand, the one he wasn’t now holding in a death grip, covering her plump lips. Her pale peaches and cream complexion had turned a bright pink. And, despite how tightly her eyes were closed at that very moment, a tear was forcing itself out of the corner of the eye nearest Henry.

Oh, God, she’s going to cry
. Henry ceased to breathe as he wondered what to say. What to do. And then instinct took over. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her hard against his chest. Her bonnet collided with his shoulder, but he had it stripped from her head in an instant, the quick flick of his wrist sending the offending velvet hat sailing onto the seat across from them. Although he wanted to kiss her just then, cover her lips and take possession of her with a punishing kiss that proved just how badly he’d wanted her the night before, how badly he wanted her right now, Henry simply held her body against his and kissed her forehead. If there had been any fight in her, he did not sense it. Nor did she feel stiff or unyielding in his arms. It was as if she melted against him, molding herself to fit into the empty spaces along the front of his body. “I wanted nothing more than to bed you last night, my lady,” he whispered hoarsely. “But it would have been ...”
Wrong? Awkward?
“Inappropriate,” he finally got out, rather proud that he was able to make such a sensible sounding excuse for himself.

Hannah apparently didn’t agree, however. He felt her body suddenly stiffen, felt her head tilt until he could see her eyes. Angry eyes.
Oh, God
.

“
Inappropriate?
” she repeated in a voice tinged with outrage. “I am expected to bear you an heir ... and a
spare
. How can I do that if you don’t
bed
me?” This last was delivered with the hint of a sob, as if she might really be on the verge of tears.

Swallowing hard, Henry gave some thought to countering her annoyance with his own sudden ire. How could she talk to him like that? He thought he’d spared her a night of embarrassment at having to host her husband in the room in which she’d spent her childhood nights. He thought he spared her the discomfort of having to ride in a coach while tender
down there
. He thought he’d done right by her by not insisting on sexual intercourse in her father’s home.
We’ll have intercourse when I am damn good and ready!

And then he noticed Harold staring at him.

The dog’s head seemed to shake ever so slightly from side to side, as if warning Henry that he was about to make a huge mistake. Or, perhaps he was warning him that it didn’t matter what he said or did. He’d already made a huge mistake and there was no getting out of it.

Henry used one hand to cup his wife’s cheek as he stared down into her bright cornflower blue eyes, made more so by the unshed tears. Even limned with tears, they were gorgeous. He settled his lips over hers, barely pressing against her plump lips until he had completely captured them. And then he kissed her, deepening the kiss until she let out a slight moan that either signaled she was appeased or that she needed to breathe. Either way, Henry slowly let go and pulled away, his eyes watching her lids as they fluttered open. He saw defiance there, he thought, and realized he still needed to explain himself. “I did not wish to take your virtue in the bed in which you’ve spent your ... maidenhood,” he stated quietly. “I intend to do so in our
marriage
bed. I think perhaps my bed will be most suitable.” Although, now that he thought about it, that was where he and Sarah sometimes made love. “Or we can use the bed in the mistress suite. Your suite,” he amended quickly, realizing she knew nothing of Gisborn Hall. “I have every intention of bedding you ...”
Frequently? Often? A couple of times a week?
He was suddenly at a loss.
How often did husbands bed their wives?

“Every night,” Hannah stated quietly, her head nodding. “At least, until I am with child, and then as often as you wish,” she added, her face turning that shade of pink he was finding quite fetching.
He wanted to spare me the embarrassment of losing my virginity in my own bed? Perhaps he is as considerate as his words make him out to be.

Henry stared down at her.
Every night?
He and Sarah ... well, things hadn’t been very comfortable between them these last few months. She had come to the house the day before he made his trip to London, agreeing to spend the night in Gisborn Hall while Nathan and his friend Andrew stayed in the nursery upstairs. And she’d been ... willing, although he sensed something was wrong when he’d been unable to pleasure her quite like he was used to doing. His simple strokes and touching were no longer effective in bringing her to ecstasy. It was as if her body demanded a harder, more forceful union – a faster, more urgent coupling. Although it had left her apparently satiated, he felt as if he had violated her in some way. Even in the morning, when he was quite prepared to make love to her in the light from a golden red dawn, he turned over to find her already gone from his bed. She was dressed and pulling on stockings in front of the fireplace, her attention on the dying embers. He wondered how long she had sat there, staring. He had kissed her on the cheek, hugged Nathan as hard as he dared, and bid them both good-bye as he stepped into the ancient Gisborn coach.

He hadn’t intended to get married while on this trip; he went thinking only to obtain the title to Ellsworth Park, so why had Sarah seemed so distant? So distracted? Now that he was going home with far more than he bargained for – a willing wife who would apparently tolerate his continued relationship with Sarah –
Men only love their mistresses
, she’d said – he wondered if Sarah would be more like she’d been for all the years before this one. Or would she become even more distant?
Damn it, what was going on with the woman?

“I shall come to your bedchamber every night then,” Henry finally agreed, nodding his head. “And should there be a night you do not want my company, you only need say so, and I shall take my leave of you.”
There
.
That should be a suitable arrangement
, he thought, rather glad they had the discussion done before arriving at Gisborn Hall.