And slick. So slick and hot and lovely and his.
He thrust wildly now, blind to her comfort or pleasure. When a sharp tingle in his spine told him he couldn’t last a moment longer, he withdrew from her tight sheath and spent himself against her thigh. Sheer bliss pulsed through him in wave after white-hot wave.
At last, he collapsed beside her, drained and breathless.
“Harry.” She turned to him, wide-eyed and flushed, glistening with perspiration. “Harry, that was so good.”
“That’s”—he worked for breath—“so gratifying to hear.”
“But it wasn’t supposed to be good. Did you underestimate your own prowess?”
He chuckled. “I’m a man of many bad habits, but underestimating my prowess isn’t typically one of them. However, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been surprised by you.”
He kissed her tenderly, then reached for his discarded shirt and wiped her body clean with one sleeve, saving the other to mop his perspiring brow. He stretched himself alongside her, keeping his legs twined with hers and drawing her close in his arms.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said in a small voice, snuggling tight against his chest.
He sighed with bittersweet gratitude. She didn’t want him to go. But neither would she try to hold him here. She was brave, and she understood his need to do something.
He stroked her hair. “Will you think less of me if I admit to some fear? Not great shuddering sobs of it, you know. Just a modest, manly amount.”
“I wouldn’t think less of you at all. I’d be glad of it. Staying afraid means staying alive.” She lifted her eyes to his and placed a hand to his cheek. “And you must stay alive, Harry. I don’t care if you come back changed or wounded, just so long as you come back. I’ll wait for you.”
He shook his head sternly. “Don’t say that. Don’t wait for me, Eliza. You’re young and lively and beautiful, and once this house emerges from mourning, every unmarried buck in London will be vying for your attention. I want you to have your youth, even if you never have that debut. When I’m cold and shivering a thousand miles away, it would kill me to think of you waiting. I want to think of you dancing. Laughing. Driving wild and fast through the park.”
“But—”
“Hush.” He touched her face, glancing his fingertip over her brow, her nose, her chin. “It’s no good, darling. England’s been battling Napoleon since we were children. This war could take years. What’s more, I’m an enlisted man. Even if we finish Bonaparte off, I could be sent anywhere, from India to Canada. It could be years before I return to England, and even then I’ve no money until I inherit. Perhaps I’ve had my arguments with the duke, but I’m not villainous enough to wish death on the man. So you must understand…I’m in no position to marry. We can’t have a future.”
She was quiet for a long time, her eyes luminous with disappointment. “I’m glad we have tonight.”
His heart made a wrenching twist in his chest.
She bent her head and pressed light kisses to his neck. “I think you’d better make love to me again. I know we covered the toes…but aren’t there other parts of me you meant to suckle?”
“Yes.” Laughing softly, he drew her earlobe into his mouth. “Yes, my dear. There most certainly are.”
Mr. and Mrs. Bartholomew Cade request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of their daughter.
St. George Hanover Church
April Thirtieth, 1814
ELIZA WAITED IN the church vestibule, clutching a bouquet of orange blossoms in one hand and smoothing the front of her silk gown with the other. Just a few minutes before the wedding now. Everything was ready.
Everything, that was, except the bride.
She blew out a slow breath. Well, a lady was allowed a bit of tardiness on her wedding day, wasn’t she? After all, this had all come about so soon. From proposal to ceremony, just within the last few weeks.
With sudden, shocking violence, a man crashed through the church doors, wild-eyed and dark. Eliza jumped and turned, lifting the bouquet of orange blossoms in defense. They wouldn’t be much defense at all, unless this intruder were the sort to sneeze helplessly around flowers. But it was what she had.
When he saw Eliza, the man doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees. “Don’t.”
She bent her head and studied the crazed stranger. The recent news of Napoleon’s surrender in France had taught her to hope, despite all her best intentions not to. That dark hair and raspy voice made her heart flutter. It had been almost a year, but this man almost looked like…even sounded like…
“Harry?”
“Don’t.” He sucked in a breath and pleaded with the carpeting. “Marry. Don’t. Eliza.”
Harry.
“Oh my goodness.” She went to his side. “Harry, what is it? Do you need a doctor? Are you having some sort of attack?”