The Bad Luck Bride (The Brides of St. Ives #1)(80)
“My mother was pregnant with Joseph when they were married.” She said it quickly, as if it had been bubbling up inside her, straining to be released.
“Is that so.”
He felt her nod. “I’m not certain what I shall do with that information, but I may use it during my argument to gain acceptance of our marriage.”
“That would not be nice,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement that she would consider such a thing. “And it would do nothing to remove their real objection, that I am not worthy of you.”
She let out a small snort. “Then I suppose I shall have to tell them we must marry post haste because of certain possible consequences.”
Henderson leaned back and looked at Alice in disbelief. “We cannot tell such a lie, Alice. I will not agree to such a tactic.”
“It won’t be a lie,” she said, looking up at him with complete innocence, an innocence that belied the implication of her words. He knew what she meant, and his body reacted immediately, his cock springing to life. Suddenly, he was aware that they were alone, that she was wearing almost nothing, that it would be a simple thing to lay her down on the cool, sweet grass and make love to her.
Which was why he could not quite believe the words that came out of his mouth next. “We cannot.”
Even with only the moonlight, he could see her smile. Was it his imagination or was that a provocative smile?
“We can. And it’s not only because I want to force my parents’ hands if need be. It’s because ever since that night we were together, it is all I can think of. Something happened that night. Something woke up inside my body and now it’s driving me a bit mad.”
Henderson shifted uncomfortably, his arousal becoming nearly painful. What man could say no to such words? Ever since she was fifteen years old, he could never say no to her, even when he knew what she asked was wrong. Perhaps she hadn’t realized all those quiet nights alone in the library were wrong, but he knew. And yet, one impish smile, one pleading sentence, and he would return, night after night, to read aloud and talk and pray that no one ever found out. If he were completely honest, the idea of making love to her, of creating a life inside her, was heady stuff.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she said softly.
The sound he let out was much like that of a man being tortured. “Never think I don’t want to make love to you, but I can hardly toss you down on the grass and have my way with you as if you’re some milk maid. Not for your first time.”
She leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss. “I have a blanket,” she whispered.
“A blanket.”
Nodding, she kissed him again. “I think lying underneath the stars atop my big soft blanket will be heaven.”
When Alice rested her hand against his chest and kissed his neck, he was lost. In one move, he hauled her onto his lap and kissed her deeply, his hand finding the lovely curve of one breast, his palm pressing against the hardened peak. He heard her sharp intake of breath and smiled, then groaned when she wriggled her soft bum against his aching cock. “You little tease,” he said, chuckling. “Where did you leave that blanket?”
Alice let out a delighted squeal, much as she used to when he would agree to whatever book she’d been begging him to read, and crushed herself against him, making him laugh aloud. “I fear I will be one of those husbands who is completely ruled by their wives.”
“Of course,” she said without hesitation, then stood, dragging him up with her. Tugging on his hand, she led him to the terrace stairs, where a small bundle lay, already damp from the night air. He grabbed the blanket and allowed Alice to bring him wherever she wanted. He was her slave, following her wherever she wished, doing her bidding for whatever she wanted.
Alice led him behind a hedgerow, which shielded them from the house should anyone look out, even though it was unlikely anyone would be able to see them from that distance. Other than the crickets, the night was silent. It was an unusually warm evening, the kind of rare night in St. Ives when winter and its colder temperatures seemed a lifetime away. Together they laid out the blanket, an astonishingly intimate exercise, then lay back, side-by-side, and gazed up at the infinite stars above them.
“We’re going to make love,” Alice said, sounding all breathy and a bit nervous.
“Yes.”
“And tomorrow, I shall speak to my father, to see how violently opposed he is to our marriage, and then we can decide how to proceed.”
He took her hand and pressed it against his mouth. “I’d rather not force your parents if we can at all avoid it. I fear their opinion of me will only lower further. Agreed?”
“Agreed. Shall I remove my clothes now?”
Henderson smiled, for she sounded so brave and he knew she must be a little nervous, despite the intimacies they had already shared.
“Not entirely, just in case someone should come upon us, I think it might be better to push your gown up a bit.”
Alice tugged her skirt to just above her knees. “Like this?” she asked, laughter in her voice, and Henderson growled, reached down, and pulled her gown up, past her hips, her flat belly, the turgid peaks of her breasts, until a soft mass of cloth lay bundled just beneath her chin.
“My God, I’d forgotten how beautiful you are. How could I have forgotten?” he said, drawing his hand up her impossibly soft skin, from her hip to her breasts. Dipping his head, he took one hard nipple in his mouth and sucked softly, loving the sounds she made, and the way her hips began to move, a silent request for him to touch her. He skimmed one hand down her taut body, past her soft curls, until he rested his palm against her core and pressed.