First Epilogue

January. 1820.

A knock on the bedchamber door made Henrietta break off from kissing Oliver despite his protests, his hands trailing over her body as she rose from the bed. The bedchamber was quite warm because Oliver had built up the fire in preparation for their intimacy, but for modesty's sake Henrietta tied a dressing gown over her chemise before opening the door to the hallway. A tearful Nathaniel stood there, shivering.

"What's wrong, darling? Did you have a bad dream?" She leaned over and picked him up. He had gotten so much taller and heavier, but she was glad he still let her hold him this way.

"Yes. Can I sleep with you?" Nathaniel must have seen Oliver in her bed over her shoulder. "Did Papa have a bad dream, too?"

She half-laughed. "Something like that." She turned and walked back to the bed, carrying Nathaniel. She didn't know how Oliver would feel about the interruption, so she made a funny face at him over Nathaniel's head.

Oh, no. Oliver had managed to pull his shirt back on, but he was frowning and looked so severe.

Still, she slid Nathaniel into the bed next to his father and followed the boy quickly under the warm covers.

Oliver laid his large hand on Nathaniel's chest. "What was this bad dream about? Do I need to go thrash some dragons up in the nursery?"

Of course, Oliver's frown had been for the bad dream, not for Nathaniel coming into her bed for comfort. She was always a molten puddle of adoration for her husband, but, if possible, she melted a little more.

"No," Nathaniel said seriously. "My bad dreams don't have dragons."

Oliver propped himself up on an elbow. "What do they have?"

Nathaniel cast a sly glance at Henrietta and then rolled towards his father and put his mouth to Oliver's ear and whispered.

"Yes," Oliver said when Nathaniel was done. "That is a very bad dream. But it's not going to happen, all right?"

Nathaniel lay back. "All right."

"Maybe Nathaniel better stay here until he falls asleep," Henrietta said to Oliver, still a trifle anxious about what her amorous husband might think of that idea.

"An excellent notion." Oliver lay back himself, his head next to Nathaniel's on the pillow. "As long as you tell us both the caterpillar story."

So, for what seemed, and might actually be, the thousandth time, Henrietta began the story of the caterpillar who liked to crawl and creep and climb.

It didn't take long for both of the Hartwell men's eyes to close, for Nathaniel's face to go slack. Henrietta reached out and stroked the shining curl in the middle of her husband's forehead.

"He's asleep," she whispered.

"So am I," Oliver whispered back. But his actions belied his words. He opened his eyes and in the quick, graceful way he had, he scooped Nathaniel up in his arms and padded across the room.

He turned at the door. "I expect you to be unclothed by the time I return," he growled.

Henrietta shed her dressing gown and chemise as soon as the door closed, wriggling into the warmth of the bed with anticipatory delight.

She loved when Oliver growled at her.

In only a few minutes, Oliver was back in her bedchamber, stripping off his shirt.

"I missed you," she said with a pretend-pout as Oliver climbed into the bed, under the covers, but over her.

He kissed the base of her throat. "I'm sorry I was occupied by escorting our young chaperone back to his own bed."

She threw her arms around his neck, and he lowered his full weight onto her. What a pleasure it was to have his body against hers. His smooth skin. His spare, hard form. She let her hands run over his shoulders and his sharp shoulder blades. Her husband.

"I hope you were not too jealous about another male in my bed," she teased.

He pulled his head back and assessed her with his gray eyes.

"No. Not Nathaniel. If there's one thing I know, it's that Mrs. Hartwell has enough love for both of us. We will never go wanting for that."

"That's true. And maybe there's enough love for more?"

He was off of her and onto the mattress at her side before she could clutch at him and keep him on top of her.

"More? As in more children?"

Without thought, her hand went to her lower belly. "One more, at least."

His hand joined hers, cupping her soft roundness. "And you are well?"

"Very well," she assured him. "So far."

"So far? How far is that?"

"Oh," she temporized. "Not so very far." He waited. "Two or three months, I think."

His eyebrows went down into a deep V . "Two or three months? Why did you keep it from me for so long?"

"I was not sure?.?.?.?it had really taken. And, of course, I wanted to be sure you would continue to come to my bed once I was with child."

"Just try to keep me out of your bed." He took her mouth with a fierceness that made her shiver.

Then his face softened, his eyes became worried, so like Nathaniel's with his bad dream. "Unless it is not good for you or the child?"

She cupped his jaw, dark and rough with evening whiskers, and her fingertips brushed the fine lines radiating from his eye to his temple. "It's very good for me. And long ago, my mother assured me acts of love do not harm an unborn baby."

He turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm for a long time before speaking. "Can I get you to agree to no hedgerow jumping until the baby comes?"

"Yes. As it turns out, I am not as fond of jumping as I thought I would be. I haven't done any since I first missed my courses."

"But I thought?.?.?.?all your work on the saddle?"

"I wanted to make something for myself. And I did."

He brushed a curl of hair off her cheek. "I'm glad you made something for yourself."

"And now I'm making something for both of us. And for Nathaniel."

"I am even more glad of that."

He rolled on top of her again and his kiss was tender and lingering as he held her face between his hands and consumed her mouth with a slow heat. She answered his caressing tongue with a whimper as he pushed her deep into the mattress, his hard cock against her leg, making his desire known to her in no uncertain terms.

"God, you're so lovely," he breathed as he moved down, stippling her throat with soft kisses. "Every square inch of you." He nipped at the delicate bit of flesh where her neck ended and her shoulder began. "I want to eat you like you're custard."

His hands were on the sides of her breasts, holding them, squeezing them. He slid farther down her body and gathered her breasts together. One thumb went over a peak, hardening it. Then his mouth descended and he sucked lightly, causing exquisite ripples of pleasure to spread from her breast to her already aching core.

She could not stop herself from arching against him, desperate for more, feverishly pushing her nipple at his mouth.

But he lifted his head, pulled his mouth away, seared her with the heat in his gaze. "You like that, Henrietta? You like me holding your teats, kissing and suckling them? You like knowing these beautiful breasts drive me mad with desire? Make me hard as a rock when I see them or touch them or even think about them?"

"I?.?.?.?like?.?.?." Her speech was leaving her as it so often did when her passion was whipped into a frenzy by her husband's touch.

"I know what you like." His large hands curved around her breasts, exerting a bit more pressure, the squeezing coming closer to a kneading. "I know what you like, my irresistible, irrepressible, wanton wife."

He put his head down, his nose skimming over the skin in the valley where her breasts met as he pushed them together. He inhaled deeply and kissed her there. "So sweet."

"Oliver," she bleated, wild now for something more, raising her hips, searching, wanting, needing.

He gripped her thighs forcefully together with his own legs and pushed her pelvis back down as he took the other breast into his mouth and began to suck.

Her hands sunk into his silky, raven hair and he responded by worrying at her nipple with a bit more ferocity, grazing it with his teeth and sucking at it sharply.

"Oliver. I need?.?.?.?you."

He looked up at her but did not stop his attentions to her breast, raising his eyebrows slightly.

She bucked. "Need."

Finally, he released her nipple. "I need, too, Henrietta. I need a taste of you, of your sweetness down below. I need to pleasure you with my tongue."

He was moving even farther down, his hands still clamped possessively on her breasts, but now his chin was just above her thatch of copper curls and she was moving her knees apart, driven by her hunger to have him between her legs. His cock, his hand, his face, his tongue, his anything.

Settling himself onto the mattress, he released her breasts and brought his arms down and spread her legs even wider.

"I need to see all this beauty you hide here."

Her entire cleft already felt so swollen and aching and throbbing, desperate for his touch.

"Please," she whispered as his hands reverently ran over her abundant hips and he kissed the tender curves at the tops of thighs, right next to her sex. "Please."

"As you wish."

Yes, he was so good to her and always did what she asked. Except in cases when he knew her ecstasy would be even more heightened by a prolonged, sensual exploration than the rush to climax she begged for. Not that Oliver himself wasn't prone to a certain furious and wicked hunger, coming upon her in the middle of the day and throwing up her skirts and thrilling her with a quick, savage coupling in some unlikely place like, say, the harness room.

He blew a stream of air over her spread, vulnerable self. She knew his breath was warm, but against her wet folds, it felt wonderfully cool. But his breath was not his touch. She needed his touch. Would he continue to tease her or would he satisfy her?

Tease, she decided. Because of how he had played with her breasts.

But she was wrong. He did not dally but immediately began to worship her bit, providing firm but gentle pressure with his mouth as his stubble scraped deliciously against her skin.

It was just as she liked, just as she wanted.

"Oh," she sighed and abandoned herself to the churn of pleasure as her fingers sifted through his ebony locks. "Yes." She loved his tongue and his lips and all the sensations he gave her with them.

But she was greedy and as her arousal grew, she strained against his strong hands holding her hips down, pinning her to the mattress. She bucked her pelvis up, wanting more, even more, her need intense and overwhelming. Oliver slapped the side of her hip, a reminder he was in control, and she quieted and tried to hold herself still, but she could not for long.

After another buck, he raised his head.

"Are you determined to ride my face, my valkyrie?"

"Oh, Oliver, please, I want to?.?.?.?please, let me ride your cock."

She loved to have him inside her while she was atop him. And she thought he loved it, too.

He gave her one of his rare smiles, and in seconds, he was flat on his back on the mattress and she was astride his narrow hips. She stroked each one of his hip bones with her thumbs and then eased herself down over his hard cock.

Yes.

This joining, this fullness was so right. It was more than pleasure. It was more than creating a child. It was union.

His long arms reached out and his hands ran over her thighs, her hips, the folds at her waist, and settled on her breasts.

She ground herself against him, using the bone at the base of his cock against her nub. He watched her, his mouth open, his gray eyes darkening, and he pulled at her nipples, pinching them.

She moved more quickly, up and down on his shaft, using her strong thighs to power their shared pleasure.

"Henrietta, I?.?.?.?I?.?.?."

He didn't need to tell her. She knew he was close. She leaned forward and kissed his mouth and then resumed riding him at a fast and vigorous pace, her torso above him, just like he was her mount.

Her husband mount.

"Come for me, Oliver."

"But you haven't?.?.?."

"I will."

His face smoothed, his eyes closed, and his hips thrust up. As she felt his hot release, she touched her nub and brought herself to a climax that took all her strength in long, sensuous waves of abandon and collapsed her down against him. She shuddered in ecstasy as the pleasure pulsed through her body and he held her in his arms and kissed her hair and said, "So beautiful, my love."

They lay there for a long time, sated, drowsing.

Only one thing kept Henrietta from sleep. From her position on top of Oliver, she asked, "What did Nathaniel say his bad dream was about? The thing you promised wouldn't happen?"

Oliver tightened his clasp around her. "He said he dreamed Mama went away and left us alone."

But that had happened. Nathaniel's mother had left him, against her will and likely in agony, knowing her son would never remember his mother.

Oliver whispered, "He meant you."

She pulled away and looked into his eyes. "Me?"

"You're his mother, Henrietta. You've been his mother for a long time now. And I've been a fool, not wanting you to feel an obligation. Not wanting you chained to us, when you deserved to be free."

She brushed his lips with hers. "I want the obligation. I choose the obligation. That is freedom."

"Will you let Nathaniel call you Mama?"

"Let?" She laughed and hugged Oliver and wriggled in joy. "He must. After all, we don't want his sister to call me a different name than he does."

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "Sister?"

"I'm sure he would want a brother, so if we prepare him for a sister, he won't be disappointed."

"I'm not so sure he would want a brother. He's very wise, you know. He may look ahead and realize a sister almost six years younger than he is will have many pretty friends of a marriageable age when he starts looking for a wife."

She snorted in laughter but then had to ask, "What do you want, Oliver?"

He stroked her hair. "You."

"No, silly. In a baby."

"I want whatever you'll give me. I just hope the little thing won't hurt you too much."

"I'm not delicate."

"No, you're not." He cradled her hips in his hands. "That's what I'm depending on. That, and the vow I took. Or rather, the bargain I made with God."

"What bargain?"

"That I would give or do anything you asked of me, and in return, you would not leave."

She pretended indignation. "You should have made the bargain with me."

"Oh, but you might have asked for all kinds of expensive fripperies such as new drawing room curtains."

"I would not have!"

"No, you wouldn't. Just saddle-making lessons. A stable for your horse. A baby. And my and Nathaniel's hearts."

"I never asked for your hearts. Those had to be given."

"You have them all the same."

"Good. Because I want them. And I'm never giving them back."

He raised his eyebrows. "You might have to give Nathaniel's back in a score of years, or so."

She dismissed that far-off complication with a laugh and a kiss to Oliver's chin. "Oh, that's the future. Let's stay here. And now. Just us three."

"Just us three. And one-third."

She didn't understand at first, but his large hands gently squeezed her around her waist and then she did.

Thank you for reading Henrietta and Oliver's love story!

If you liked Voluptuous , it would be wonderful if you would leave a review or a rating on Amazon or anywhere you review/rate books. Reviews and ratings mean a LOT to an independent author, and I would be so grateful!

Voluptuous is a complete story. But I always like to spend a little more time with my characters, have a few more moments with them. So, there is a second epilogue. A tiny, steamy taste of more Henrietta and Oliver. To get the free second epilogue you have to subscribe to my newsletter at www.felicityniven.com/voluptuous (even if you are already subscribed, you have to sign up again at that webpage).

It's an extra dollop of custard for being in the loyalty club (i.e., a newsletter subscriber).

Also, there is a prequel short story to Voluptuous entitled Be Not Coy , available for sale on Amazon . It features the instalust meet-cute story of Henrietta's parents, Crispin and Georgiana. And you get a glimpse of a nineteen-year-old Oliver.

And please keep reading on! In the pages ahead, you will find?.?.?.

A sneak peek of Bed Me, Viscount . This full-length novel takes place at Crossthwaite and is what happens when "just us three " is disrupted by unplanned visits from Henrietta's sister Ellen and Oliver's cousin William Dagenham. It's also an age-gap romance and features some Regency-style primal play.

My Author's Notes and Acknowledgements, etc.

A list of all the novellas in the Curves & Cravats series.