Chapter 15

Fifteen

A knock woke her from sleep.

"Come in," she mumbled.

The door connecting her bedchamber to Oliver's bedchamber opened. A lamp was lit in his room, and as she squinted into the light, she could see his tall, lean form standing in the doorway.

"Oliver?"

"I'm sorry to have disturbed your sleep. Good night, Henrietta." The door started to close.

"No!"

If she had not been naked under the sheets, she would have leapt from the bed to drag him into the room.

She had departed the drawing room what must have been hours ago, giving him a hopeful look as she left. Lucy had put her in a nightdress and taken her hair down and plaited it, and once her lady's maid had bid her goodnight, Henrietta had quickly stripped the nightdress off, shaken loose the plait, given herself a quick wash at the basin, turned the lamp down, and scrambled into bed to wait for Oliver in the dark.

Because when she had asked him for a child yesterday evening, she had also promised him the dark, hadn't she? Even though she was dying to look at him. So she mustn't put him off now with her flesh. She mustn't remind him she wasn't small and delicate like his previous wives. That might spoil everything.

"Please, Oliver." She tried to keep desperation out of her voice. "I'm not asleep. Well, I drifted off a bit, waiting for you, but I'm awake now. See?"

The door stayed half-closed. "Yes."

"Please, let's get this over with. I'm awfully anxious."

An odd, strangled noise came from the doorway. Had he laughed?

"Only you could be awfully anxious and still fall asleep."

Oh. Oh. How delightful. She rubbed her toes together under the bedclothes in a little dance of joy. Her serious husband had teased her.

"You know me." She'd meant to say it in a friendly way, but it came out as an almost-seductive purr.

He cleared his throat. "Forgive me. I'm very nervous myself."

Oliver was nervous? Even though he had done this before?

"Don't be nervous. It's just me, after all."

Another strange noise came from him. Oh, no. Was he going to flee?

"Please, come in. Won't you? Please?"

At first, his silhouette did not move. Then there was a step, and the light behind him winked out as the door closed, and they were in the dark together.

She got up on her elbows. "You'll have to tell me if I do something wrong. I'm not the most clever, as you know, and I don't want to?.?.?.?I mean, I want you to enjoy it."

"You're very clever. And I should be the one trying to make sure you enjoy it."

How sweet he was being. She swallowed. "I'm sure I'll like anything you do."

"I am?.?.?.? not sure you will."

"I liked your kiss," she said boldly.

He said nothing.

"The kiss you gave me? In my father's study?"

"I remember."

She waited as long as she could. Many seconds. "So, are you going to come into the bed?"

"Yes."

Rustling followed, and she cursed the darkness, longing to light a candle. She wanted to watch her husband undress, see those long limbs in all their glory. See his skin. See his member again and find out if he was aroused as he had been when she had seen it before.

The mattress dipped as he slipped in under the sheet and counterpane, carefully keeping to the other side of the bed, not touching her, not even accidentally.

She smelled something familiar.

"I've always wondered," she said.

"What?"

"That kiss?.?.?.?your mouth tasted of?.?.?.?well, I've never had whisky, but I've smelled it on my father's breath before. Had you drunk some whisky that night you kissed me?"

"Yes."

"Did you drink some tonight?"

"One glass. I thought it might help my nerves."

"Has it?"

"I think I might still be downstairs if not for the whisky."

She turned on her side, towards him, wanting to touch him so badly. "Perhaps you should have drunk more than one glass."

"Whisky can impede?.?.?.?performance."

"Is that true for women?"

"There's no question of performance for women, is there?"

She lifted her shoulders, even though he could not possibly see her shrug in the dark. "I don't know. I don't even really understand what you mean by performance. Isn't it something we're meant to do together?"

He coughed. "You are experienced."

It wasn't a question.

"What?" she choked out.

"Last night, when you asked for a child, you said women can have pleasure during the act. And I thought?—"

"You thought I had?.?.?.??"

"Haven't you?"

She fought against her tears with a rare burst of temper. "I have had one experience with a man. One. My husband kissed me in my father's study. Of course, he wasn't my husband then. I suppose that makes me a wanton."

Then she did cry. Oh, no. She had been on the brink of having physical intimacy with Oliver, and she had ruined it.

Or maybe not.

He gathered her to him. At first, she didn't notice he was wearing a shirt as he put those heavenly forearms around her, pressed her into his chest, and said, "Forgive me. I'm a fool."

But after several sobs, she didn't like the scratch of the linen against her face, the fact her bare breasts were not against his skin. His clothing was as offensive to her as his presumption she was not a virgin.

"You're wearing a shirt," she said through her tears.

"I?.?.?.?I didn't know what you would want."

"I'm naked."

He didn't speak for a while. "I know. That. Now." His voice was as strangled and raspy as it had been after he had spent by his own hand.

She snuffled. "Can you be naked, too?"

"As you wish."

He released her and there was a whiffle through the air and when he put his arms around her again, her cheek settled against hot skin covered with hair. Hair on his chest. Mmmmm.

"That's so much better, Oliver."

He said nothing, so she nuzzled her face into his chest and dared to kiss him there. Under her lips, she could feel his heart beating almost as rapidly as hers was.

"There's something you should know," he said.

Mmmmm. His skin tasted as good as it smelled. She kissed his chest again.

"I?.?.?.?neither of my?.?.?.?I am not?.?.?.?don't worry, I should be able to impregnate you, it should be no problem whatsoever, but I am almost certain you will not enjoy it."

She stopped kissing his chest. "I'm enjoying this. You holding me. Kissing your skin."

"About that?.?.?."

"Yes?"

"I think I had better perform my duty now."

That must be his way of saying he didn't enjoy the holding and the kissing. She'd have to learn what he liked in this, just as she had with other parts of their life together.

She rolled onto her back.

"All right," she said. "I'm ready."

The devil take him, he should have drunk the whole damn bottle of whisky. He was brimming, on the verge of coming, and he hadn't even let his cock touch her, angling his lower half away from her as he held her gorgeous body.

If he didn't use every ounce of restraint he possessed, he would spill outside of her and she wouldn't get the baby she wanted. But Henrietta was accommodating, willing to go along with his undue haste.

He felt he should warn her. "There can be pain."

"Yes, I know. My mother told me a great deal about it all. Everything."

Her mother. Of course, Georgiana would educate her daughters. Oliver should never have supposed Henrietta had already experienced copulation. Yet another regret in a long line of his regrettable actions towards her.

And the duchess was probably the one to mislead Henrietta about pleasure during the act. Oliver knew from hints Crispin had dropped over the last two decades that he and Georgiana had the vanishingly rare experience of sharing a fervent and mutual desire in their marriage bed.

"But the pain has to do with breaking something, doesn't it?" Henrietta asked. "I ride so much, surely I'm already broken?"

He had not thought of that. Maybe this would be less uncomfortable for her than it had been for Violet who had screamed curses at him the first time or Emily who had cried silently.

He moved towards her under the sheet and got on his knees.

He could actually hear her swallow before she whispered, "What should I do?"

"Can you spread your legs?"

Obediently, she slid her legs apart, and he moved his knees into the gap she had created on the mattress. He leaned down and put a hand flat on either side of her. The wet tip of his cock brushed against the soft skin of her belly, and he hissed.

"Sorry," he said just as she said, "Are you all right?"and lifted her head and knocked her forehead against his.

If only he were the type who could laugh at their mutual clumsiness and assure her everything was fine.

But he wasn't. And damn it, he did not think he could afford to delay any longer. Still hovering over her, he took one hand and held his cock and tried to find her entrance.

"Oh," she said and sucked in a breath. "That's lovely." She wriggled just a little. "You touching me there."

It was more than lovely. It was tremendous, tantalizing, titillating to brush his fingers and the head of his cock over her heated lips and their soft wisps of hair. And deeper in, she was wet in her delicate folds and not just from his own persistent dribble.

"May I?" he said through clenched teeth.

"Yes. Please."

He put the head of his cock just barely inside her. God, he was close.

"Is that all right?" he gasped out.

Her hands came up and rested on his shoulders. "Anything you do is all right, Oliver."

That wasn't true. That had never been true. Nevertheless, he slowly pressed into her. Her sex was ungodly hot and tight, gripping him.

She made a little sound.

"Am I hurting you?"

"Yes, I mean, it's a full feeling. But, please, don't stop." Her hands moved from his shoulders to his upper arms. "Please."

He slid in farther, clenching his buttocks in the hopes that would keep him from release.

"Yes," she said.

Another inch from him. Oh, my God . And then another, and another, and another and suddenly he was totally seated in her, totally surrounded by her.

"Is that it?" she said, her voice a little strained. "Is it over?"

Almost, he wanted to say. Instead, he ground out, "I'm going to pull back and push in again."

Her hands tightened on his arms. "You have to start again? I did something wrong."

Her mother's lessons must not have been as comprehensive as Henrietta had said.

"You did nothing wrong. No. It's part of the?.?.?.?it's normal."

"I see."

He eased himself backwards, her sultry tightness pulling at him, squeezing him. At the very end of his stroke, he felt the tingle in his spine and quickly thrust into her again, sheathing himself completely and?.?.?.? Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh. My. God. He exploded into her. Rapture. Bliss. He saw stars in the dark room.

When he regained any semblance of reason, he was still lodged in her, suspended over her, panting, covered in a sheen of sweat, her hands on his upper arms.

He drew in a deep breath. "It's over now." He felt some of his seed spilling out as he withdrew his member. Her hands fell away, and he moved to her side on his knees.

"Are you all right?" he asked, cringing in the dark, preparing himself for her anger, her tears, her disappointment.

"Yes. Thank you, Oliver. Thank you."

She was thanking him, he supposed, for the child she might conceive. It couldn't be because she had enjoyed any part of that. Best he depart now.

"I'll let you sleep." He moved to get out of the bed.

"No," she yelped and in the dark, a strong grip latched onto his forearm. "I mean?.?.?.?aren't you going to sleep here? Please?"

He'd never slept in the same bed as someone else, except as a child when he had gone to his nurse's bed with a nightmare. Violet hadn't wanted anything to do with him before, during, or after coition, and Emily had never invited him to sleep with her. Even if she had, Emily was so frail, he would have feared injuring her.

"I might roll over in my sleep and hurt you."

Henrietta laughed. "You couldn't hurt me."

That was true. She was beautifully strong and solid. Lovely, well, and alive.

Suddenly, desperately, he wanted to do something for her. He wanted to care for the woman who cared for everyone around her.

"Let me get a cloth for you to clean yourself."

"All right."

He could see the outlines of the table where her basin and pitcher sat. He felt around the table and came up with two cloths. He dampened them and cleaned himself with one and brought the other one back to the bed.

"Here."

She fumbled and found the wet cloth in his hand and took it. "Wiping away the seed won't interfere?"

Again, her mother's lessons hadn't taught her everything. "No. There's plenty deep inside you."

There was some movement and rustling and she handed the cloth back to him.

"You will come back to bed with me, won't you?"

"Yes." He took the cloth to the basin and went back to the bed and slid in next to her. Suddenly, he felt her hand holding his.

"Thank you, Oliver."

He lay awake for several hours while she slept. He got hard again with the thought of her naked body next to his, just inches away. But eventually he drifted off, her hand still in his.

He came out of sleep just before dawn to a bouquet of red curls in his face and a lush, warm armful of woman against him, her breasts hugging his side, one of her perfect, dimpled thighs sprawled over both of his. Carefully, he extracted himself, gathered his shirt and the rest of his clothes, and fled to his own room before she could wake.

In the light of day, she might not be able to hide her displeasure from him, what she really felt about what he had done to her in the dark.

He needed to dress, to shave, to erect his usual shields before he would have the courage to face her.