Chapter Seventeen

"I think what is between a husband and wife, or in our case, my betrothed and myself, is private, Lord Carr. I would suggest you refrain from asking such a pointed and ill-placed question again toward my future wife," Holland said, coming to stand at Sophie's side.

How dare the viscount be so impertinent. The gentleman ought to know better and know his place. He took her hand and placed it on his arm, covering her trembling fingers with his lest the inappropriate Lord Carr thought to continue asking such inquiries that he had no right knowing the answer to in the first place.

Whatever was wrong with the man?

"My apologies, Your Grace. We're old friends, you see. I did not think the question out of place at all, merely the kind of fun banter that Miss York and myself once shared," his lordship stated in the way of excuse.

Henry was not buying his pretty words for one moment. There was something about Carr that he did not like. If he were to describe it, a falseness, a meanness, that did not sit well with him. His lordship's wife, whose gaze was cold enough to freeze the Thames, stood beside him, her endorsement of the unsuitable question clear to see.

Well, he would not allow either of them to ask any further queries. Old friends from the same county or not, their time together this evening was over.

"If you will excuse us. I wish to dance with my fiancée." Without waiting for a reply, Henry escorted Sophie onto the dance floor and pulled her into his arms, relishing the feel of her in his embrace once more.

"I do not like Lord Carr," he stated, glaring at the smirking fob over Sophie's shoulder.

"Then that would make two of us." She reached up and discreetly led his attention back to her instead. The urge to pummel Lord Carr into a pulp rode him hard. How dare he ask Sophie how it was that she had captured his heart.

"Do not think any more of the viscount. He has always been too familiar and too sure of himself. That has not changed in all the years I have known him, not even when he is before a duke and ought to know better."

Henry pulled her close, having missed her these past two days. They were betrothed, after all. No one could say anything about how familiar they were to one another now. Nor should they dare. "How long has it been since you've spoken to Lord Carr? I would think it was not long enough."

Sophie chuckled at his words, and he drank in the sound, enjoying her laughter and happiness. "Not since I was fifteen. A long time ago."

"What a shame he has come to London. Some people ought to remain in the past and the country."

"I could not agree more," she murmured, a shadow clouding her eyes before she blinked, and it was gone. "You're my future now. And I, for one, cannot wait to be your wife. To be together always, to return home after nights such as this. Alone ..." She grinned.

The idea made him inwardly groan, and he fought to keep control of his person. She was too tempting for her own good. Did she not know what a temptress she was to his soul? How much she consumed his every thought?

"The idea of being alone with you now is compelling beyond reason. Do you think we could sneak away?" he asked, looking about and seeing no one was taking much notice of them in any case.

"Perhaps I have a headache and require assistance to return home," she suggested. "Now that we're engaged, I'm sure Harlow will allow your aid."

He smirked and halted their dance. Looking about the room, he spied Lord and Lady Kemsley and hastily started toward them.

"What are you doing?" she asked, close to his heels.

"As you asked and as I said, your every whim and desire is mine to fulfill, and if you have a megrim, then I wish to take you home so you may feel better."

"You're incorrigible," she breathed just as they came before her cousin and Kemsley.

Sophie watched with admiration as, with a well-crafted excuse and not a lot of persuasions, Harlow and Lord Kemsley allowed Henry to take her home for them since she was suffering from a terrible headache and needed a tisane immediately.

It did not take them long before they were ensconced in the ducal Holland carriage and making their way through Mayfair streets. Sophie settled into the plush, leather-lined carriage seats, so much nicer than any she had ever traveled in before. Even Harlow's family carriage was not as lovely as Henry's seemed to be.

She looked about and noted the curtains matched the upholstery on the unusually wide seats. "Your carriage is lovely, Henry. I do not think I've ever traveled in such finery," she said, watching him settle on the squabs across from her.

"You should become accustomed to my way of life, my darling, for I intend to spoil you and gift all you desire."

The word desire reverberated in her mind, and she could not deny that she liked to hear him state such things, for she, too, only wanted to please and love him as he deserved.

She reached over and untied the little knots that held the curtains open and slowly closed them all, enclosing them in a shadowed, secluded space. Sophie moved to sit beside Henry, leaning up to kiss the underside of his ear. He smelled divine, of sandalwood and spice. "Order the carriage driver to drive around a little while, Your Grace," she suggested in a tone she hoped was as seductive as she felt.

He barked out the order immediately, startling her. "What do you have planned for us?" he asked. He moaned when she kissed his neck, small, soft brushes of her lips against his skin.

Before she could answer, he turned and picked her up, settling her on his lap. But unlike before, she did not sit on his knees. Instead, she straddled his legs, leaving her exposed.

Heat kissed her skin, and hunger licked along her spine. "I want you," she admitted, having never felt the burning desire that coursed through her right at that moment.

His eyes darkened, burned with a need that matched hers, and he kissed her, took her lips in a kiss that left her reeling, breathless, and wanting more.

So much more.

His hands fumbled with her dress, and cool air kissed her legs, her thighs before she moaned when his hand slipped against her cunny, rubbing her, teasing her aching flesh.

She moaned and held his shoulders to steady herself as his touch teased her to within a stroke of release.

"You're so wet, Sophie. So delicious." He met her eyes in the darkness, and she knew the time had come. They could not continue to tease each other in such a way. They were engaged now, and she wanted him in all ways.

She could trust Henry. He was everything to her, including her heart.

Sophie reached for his falls, ripping his breeches open. His manhood sprung into her hand, and she stroked him, long and slow. He moaned, the torture in his voice. The need made her want him even more.

"You're so hard," she rasped breathlessly, positioning herself above him, his cock at her core.

"Sophie, wait," he cautioned. "You're a maid. I don't want to hurt you." His hands stilled her actions, stopping her from doing what she wanted. What they both wanted.

"You are worth the discomfort," she said, hoping that with Henry there would be no pain, only pleasure. His grip eased and with care, she lowered herself onto him, reminding herself that this was Henry. She was in control. She could stop at any moment. That this was what she wanted. He was whom she loved.

He leaned back against the squabs, watching her. Ecstasy and satisfaction washed over his features as she settled upon him. He was large, thicker than she expected, but so good. He filled and inflamed her body, and the urge to enjoy the gift that was her betrothed was too much.

She lifted herself and came down upon him with caution, but there was no pain, no burning or hard, distressing grips upon her person. He held her hips with care, guiding her, allowing her to set her own pace.

He was an elixir of satisfaction and peace she could not get enough of.

"Henry," she gasped, riding him, taking him deep. He groaned, thrusting into her, teasing her with every stroke. "I cannot wait to be yours."

"You already are mine," his low voice declared with promise. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the seat and promptly laying her onto the squabs.

The soft cushions cocooned her as he came over her. He thrust into her, hard and with demanding strokes. Sophie wrapped her legs around his hips, content to enjoy this marvelous gift they gave each other.

She clasped his face, pulling him down for a kiss, and gasped as tremors thrummed through her unlike anything she'd ever known, and then pleasure exploded through her body, out from her core to send bliss through the rest of her person.

"Henry," she gasped through his kiss. Warmth filled her core, his release blending with hers. He did not stop until the final tremors subsided to blissful oblivion.

He came to lay beside her, pulling her into his arms. "That was wonderous," he stated, kissing her temple.

She huddled into his muscled chest, their legs still entwined. "I adore you," she whispered.

"And I cherish you, and now I think more than anything we require to be married sooner rather than in a month. That will be too long to have you in my bed."

"We cannot elope," she said, fear curdling a little of her ecstasy. "People will think badly of our union and that it is not what you wish."

He frowned, shaking his head. "No, we will not elope, but I shall gain a special license, and before the week is out, you shall be my duchess."

Sophie sighed, preferring this idea above anything else. "I would indeed like that to be the case."

"As would I."