To Marry A Matchmaker (Historical Romance) (15 page)

‘Are you saying that it’s not Sophie? When has a woman ever refused me?’ His eyes widened with incredulity. ‘You’re sadly mistaken, cousin. Sophie adores me. No woman who adores me has ever said no to me.’

‘Sometimes no means no, rather than an attempt to be coy.’ All of Henri’s muscles coiled ready for a fight. He had to understand before he ruined them all. ‘The trouble with you, Sebastian, is that up until now, women have fallen into your lap like ripe plums. You’ve never
had to work hard. If you truly wish to have Sophie, then, in light of your debts, you had best do something to deserve her.’

A stunned silence filled the room. A wave of triumph surged through Henri. She put her hand on the doorknob. ‘Now that your non-future with Sophie is settled, I do have a busy life beyond your whims and fancies.’

‘Miss Armstrong told everyone who cared to listen about her supper party with Robert Montemorcy,’ Sebastian said as she was about to leave the room. ‘I understand it was quite intimate. Are wedding bells in the air?’

‘I was at the
intimate
supper party of twelve. Mrs Armstrong exaggerates the friendship,’ Henri said when she had gulped several mouthfuls of air.

‘Miss Armstrong has set her cap for Robert Montemorcy. The entire neighbourhood is aware of it.’ Sebastian gave a half-smile and a tiny flutter of his fingers. ‘I wondered if you were.’

‘Miss Armstrong may very well be interested in obtaining R—that is to say, Mr Montemorcy’s hand in matrimony, but I dare say that Mr Montemorcy is well able to look after himself. Miss Armstrong will not be the first woman to have tried.’ Henri pulled at the door, which suddenly gave way and sent her flying backwards. Her bottom hit the occasional table with a thump.

‘But I thought you would welcome the names of your competition.’

‘And you know I have no desire to remarry.’ Henri put her hands on her hips. Sebastian was intent on making mischief rather than having guessed her secret. ‘Stop trying to pair Robert and me off. It is really most annoying.’

‘It is Robert now, is it?’ Sebastian gave her a hard look. ‘What else has been going on while you have been away? What are you keeping from me, cousin dear? Do you know his antecedents? How his stepmother ran away with the dancing master? And the scandal of his father’s suicide? I do. I made it my business to know.’

‘Mr Montemorcy rescued me.’ Henri concentrated on undoing the ribbons of her bonnet and placing it on the side table, rather than thinking about the ugly rumour that spilled from Sebastian’s mouth. Was it any wonder that Robert had given up dancing and decided to concentrate on saving the family’s business? And how bitter arriving back in England with the musical box to discover his father dead by his own hand must have been.

Sebastian must not learn about last night’s kiss. In his present state, he’d confront Robert, accusing him of seeking to seduce her in revenge for his own thwarted love affair with Sophie.

She bit off each word, making sure that there could be no misunderstanding. ‘I recuperated at his house. We spoke a little. Mostly Sophie nursed me. She likes to paint. Terribly artistic. She has done a portrait of me. I shall have it framed and put it above the mantelpiece in my bedroom. And before you ask, Sebastian, I will not lend you any money either.’

‘Do not seek to change the subject, Henri.’ Sebastian held up his hand. ‘Was Sophie your nurse the entire time? Or did you have cause to speak with Montemorcy?’

‘Sophie did have to sleep,’ Henri said thoughtlessly and then regretted it as Sebastian’s gaze became intent. Her cheeks began to burn. She stared at a point somewhere above Sebastian’s head and tried not to think of the intimate moments she had shared with Robert. If she
did not think about them, she would not mention them, but even now the memory of his touch threatened to swamp her senses.

‘He entertained you late at night. Curious. One of you must be aware of how easy it is to ruin a reputation, even a reputation as fearsome as yours, Henrietta. The great tragic widow. Are you planning on becoming his mistress?’

‘I refuse to answer your question.’ Henri tapped her foot against the carpet. ‘You are being improper and impertinent.’

‘No.’ Sebastian stroked his chin and made a note on a piece of paper. His eyes took on a sly look. ‘You are being naïve, Henrietta. Men like that always want something more. You need my guiding hand. If you just lend—’

‘Sebastian, where is this conversation going?’ Henri crossed her arms. ‘I have no need of a lecture about propriety or family feeling or whatever you might think to lecture me on. Your troubles have nothing to do with me. And I will not give you any hush money to stop you spreading rumours. I know where the lines are drawn. I’ve no intention on crossing them.’

‘No one said anything about blackmail. Perish the thought.’ Sebastian put his hands on Henri’s shoulders. He looked down at her, his deep blue eyes showing injured innocence. ‘I’m not the villain here, Henrietta Maria; remember that. I only want to be with the love of my life and for that I need to restore my fortune. I’ll do it with or without your help.’

Henri stepped away from him and looked at her cousin closely, truly looked at him. Superficially he was the same handsome man, but there was a hardness in his
eyes and she knew soon the years of extravagant living would begin to show. What was worse, he stood there with a superior expression on his face as if she’d give in and help him because she’d helped him so many times before. ‘Sometimes I’ve trouble believing you, Sebastian. Go back to London and leave us alone.’

His eyes widened before his face contorted with fury. ‘I’ll not be denied, Henrietta.’

‘I’m not against you, Sebastian.’ Henri held out her hands. ‘I want the best for you, but you’re behaving like a spoilt child. You’re better than that. Grow up and solve this problem yourself.’

* * *

Henri snipped off the dead heads off the overblown roses with fierce strokes. Two days of Sebastian’s sulking and not a word from Robert. Sebastian kept making barbed remarks and then apologising as he was supposed to try to be an adult. Aunt Frances was not being any use in the matter, retreating to her library and assuming that Henri had somehow wronged Sebastian.

Robert’s silence bothered her. Twice she penned a note, only to toss it in the fire. Life would be easier if he wrote first. And Henri hated waiting. Even the various doings of village life held no interest.

In desperation, she tried reading the letters between Edmund and her, but they seemed to belong to another age. She barely recognised the girl who had penned the breathless declarations of love, and had stopped the exercise as pointless after reading the first six. Somehow along the way she’d stopped grieving for Edmund. She knew she’d always treasure his words, but they no longer sent wave after wave of racking pain through her being. As she carefully replaced the letters, she felt
embarrassed, as if she was peeking into someone else’s life; it was the mundane detail about the dresses, parties and what he had had for dinner that held her interest rather than her overblown expressions of love and devotion.

The whole exercise seemed to make her think more about Robert rather than less—the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed and how his hands felt against her back when they danced, when they kissed. The maelstrom of passion that made her feel alive in a way that Edmund had never done.

Henri gave the roses a fierce swipe with her shears. Did she even have to bow to propriety and convention? Sebastian never did.

‘You appear about ready to murder those flowers. What have they done to deserve that sort of treatment?’

Henri missed her stroke and cut through a swathe of buds. Now she was starting to imagine his voice.

‘Henri? Has something happened?’

Her heart skipped a beat, but she stared at the beheaded rose for a moment longer, seeking to control her reaction. She had promised herself so many times that what had happened the night of the ball was an aberration. However, she only had to imagine his voice and her pulse raced faster.

‘Henri? Are you going to speak to me?’

Henri spun around. He stood there, hands held out, a half-smile on his face. A lock of hair fell over his forehead. Her fingers itched to smooth it away.

‘Robert, it’s you.’ Henri grasped the basket tighter. ‘An unexpected pleasure.’

‘Sending a note about the other forfeit was
unnecessary. I’d promised to call, but there was urgent business at the works.’ He touched his fingers to his hat. His face seemed thinner, making his eyes appear more intense.

‘How did you know where to find me?’ Henri stared at him, perplexed. What was this about a note and forfeit? And more to the point—who had sent it? Was this Sebastian’s test of loyalty? Henri rejected the notion. Sebastian had nothing to gain by sending Robert to her.

‘Your aunt said that you would be in the garden and encouraged me to find you.’

Henri breathed a little easier. Mystery solved. Aunt Frances was playing at matchmaking. It was very like Aunt Frances to send a note and then leave matters to work themselves out.

‘I believe you will find the note was from my aunt.’

‘Does it matter? It is good to know that your aunt approves of me.’ A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth. ‘Unless you have a reason why you and I no longer have any need to be civil, I want to hear how the patient progresses. And Boy wants you to come and visit soon.’

She laughed as the blood started to rush through her veins, warming her all over. Nothing mattered except he was standing there. He’d come expressly to visit her.

‘Has the dog told you?’

‘It was in his eyes when I told him where I was going.’

‘You are exaggerating.’ Henri concentrated on a rosebud that was just unfurling its petals to the hot summer sun. She had never seen Robert indulge in light-hearted
whimsy before and it amused her. ‘That dog does not miss me.’

‘Visit and see for yourself. You’ve made a conquest.’

Henri kept the basket in front of her like a shield and tried to remember all the reasons why seeing Robert alone again was a bad idea and why she should suggest going up to the drawing room where Sebastian lurked. Henri’s heart plummeted. The last thing she wanted was to have Sebastian be unbearably rude.

‘The flowers need seeing to. I was cutting the dead blooms away.’

‘Surely you have a gardener.’

‘I like doing it myself. It soothes my nerves to put the border to rights. Then I will attend to village business.’ Henri paused, shifting the basket on to her hip, acutely aware of him—where he stood, where his hands were and the exact position of his mouth. Her entire being trembled. What seemed so straightforward in her lonely room was far more difficult with him standing near her, close enough to touch, to caress, to kiss. The longing to be touched swamped her senses. ‘The other night…’

The dimple deepened in the corner of his mouth. ‘Should I apologise?’

‘Yes…no…It should never have happened. I was wrong to allow it to happen.’

‘But it did.’ His rich voice flowed over her, warming her and making her want to. Henri concentrated on breathing steadily. ‘It is fruitless to wish to undo the past, so I will make no attempt to.’

She held up her hand, preventing him from continuing. ‘I’ve no plans to remarry, Robert. I value my independence.’

He lifted an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth twitched. ‘Generally people wait until they are asked before refusing an offer.’

Henri’s cheeks grew hot and a pang of regret went through her. Robert was not behaving how she expected. Had she misread the situation? Surely any man with a sense of honour would make an offer? It was how things were done? Weren’t they?

‘I wanted to make certain you understood, before. before you made an offer out of duty. I’ve no wish to fall out of civility with you, but remarriage is not in my future. Ever.’

‘D
uty?’ Robert stared at Henri in disbelief. Her level gaze met his. She was serious. They both knew all it had been was a kiss, a kiss that no one saw or commented on. True, it had nearly gone much further, but he’d never forced a woman and wasn’t about to start with Henri. ‘I have kissed other women without them demanding marriage.’

‘I wanted to make sure.’ Her deep blue eyes were guileless. She made a little gesture with her hand and nearly sent the greenery tumbling out of the trug. She bent to retrieve them and her bonnet slipped forwards, shielding her face from view. ‘It is best that everyone understands and no one feels obligations or expectations.’

‘I know where the boundaries lie.’ Robert stared at the crown of her bonnet. What he felt for Henri was far removed from duty. Passion. Desire. A longing to be with her. But not duty. And passion alone was a good enough reason to be with her.

In many ways, Henrietta Thorndike was more naïve
than Sophie. At least Sophie did not believe that a simple kiss would lead automatically to a declaration of intent. However, she would come to see his perspective—what was between them needed to be explored and savoured. Enjoyed while it lasted.

‘We kissed the other night. It was wrong. We both know that. My reputation in this village would be destroyed if anyone discovered. They would never believe that we stopped at one kiss.’ She stood up and brushed the dirt from her skirt. ‘Village gossip can be ruthless, and I am determined to make very clear where boundaries lie.’

‘Are you ruined? Has anyone commented?’ Robert asked. If someone had seen them, then he would force the issue. Henri’s reputation was safe with him. But for now, it was about enjoying each other’s company, rather than thinking about society’s dictates. ‘Will they? You are a widow of twenty-six, not some débutante of seventeen.’

‘No.’ Her brow puckered and her white teeth caught her full bottom lip. ‘No one knows. I am certain of it.’

‘Then you’re troubling trouble—a very bad thing to do.’

‘The kiss,’ she said before colouring a dusky rose. ‘I mean you’re right. As long as we agree on a stratagem, we are safe. Our lives can continue on as they have been.’

Robert watched her mouth. She wet it, running her tongue over it, turning her lips the colour of the unfurled rose she held in her hand. The air between them hummed with energy. ‘What boundaries do you propose? Shall we open negotiations?’

Her lips formed a startled O. ‘I.I propose friendship.’

‘Friendship. Intimate friendship?’ he said softly, watching her much as a cat watches a mouse, waiting for her to move towards him. She wanted to, he could sense that. The very air crackled between them. But it had to be her choice or he’d lose her.

‘We’re both adults.’ Her voice was husky as she took a half-step towards him. ‘We can control our passions.’

‘Do you believe that?’ Robert pounced, capturing her unresisting waist. Gently he removed the rose-filled basket from her fingers, set it on the gravel path. ‘Do you truly believe it? I never thought you lacked imagination or innovation, Henri.’

Slowly she nodded.

‘Liar.’ He bent his head so his mouth was a breath from hers. He watched the way her tongue flicked over her lips, wetting them. The blood surged through him, and he knew he had to possess her mouth again.

‘I am attempting to be sensible,’ she said, her breath mingled with his.

‘And you think this will not happen every time we are alone, and that we won’t find reasons to be alone?’ He pulled her more firmly into his arms. Her body brushed against his as he claimed her mouth. A long drawn-out sigh emerged from her throat as her arms reached up to pull him closer.

He penetrated the sweet interior of her mouth. Her tongue touched his and retreated, explicitly inviting him to follow, to sink deep into her depths. For a long moment, they stood submerged in each other. His arms crushed the soft curves of her body against him, moulding
to him. And he knew he wanted more than was prudent.

‘Henri,’ he said against her mouth, drawing her breath into his lungs. ‘We need to move. Too exposed. Discretion in all things.’

She gave an indistinct murmur and looked up at him with passion-dilated eyes. Not letting go of her waist, he led her into the shadow of the summer-house where they would not be easily spied and kissed the nape of her neck, tasting her sun-ripened skin.

‘Too exposed for what?’ she whispered, not moving away. Her eyes were large and luminous. Innocent.

‘This.’ He trailed his mouth along her neck until he reached the hollow of her throat. Her skin tasted of strawberries and sunlight and something that was pure Henri. Addictive and he knew his control was slipping. He wanted her. Far too much. He wanted to take his time and explore all the mysteries. He breathed deep and regained some vestige of self-control.

‘When you wish to stop, we stop. But this is going to keep happening. The question is—what are we going to do about it?’ he asked, watching her like a hawk.

Henri stood completely still as Robert’s words thrummed through her. He desired her. He wanted more. She wanted more. She wanted to feel his touch on her skin. She wanted to touch him. And the desire hadn’t diminished in the time they had been apart; it had grown until it threatened to consume her entire being. What she was experiencing wasn’t some weak gentle thing, but something powerful and terrifyingly wonderful. This was what it was like to be in a strong and healthy man’s arms. And she wanted more.

Logically she should pick up her skirts and run like
the very devil was after her, but her feet seemed rooted the ground. And he made no attempt to kiss her further, but neither did he move away. He simply stood there, looking at her with his gold-flecked eyes, as if she was the most desirable cake in the world and he a starving man. The heat from him rose all around her, enveloping her senses. Her skin tingled with anticipation.

‘We should walk away. Leave this place now and forget that it even happened.’ Henri attempted to make her voice sound decisive. But her entire being screamed that her lips were lying. She was incapable of moving away from the warmth of his body. Tingles of liquid warmth pulsated through her body and she knew her legs could not carry her. ‘Never meet alone again.’

‘Leave? I have no intention of leaving Corbridge. What happens if we encounter each other in the street, at the haberdasher’s or even at a ball? Do we walk away then? Or do we find some deserted summer-house?’

‘We must be distant friends.’ Henri hated the way her voice trembled on
distant.
She’d miss him. She had missed him in the past two days more than she had thought possible. What she was doing was the correct and proper thing. Surely Robert had to see the futility of them meeting and becoming entwined with each other. Sooner or later someone would find out and she’d be forced to make a choice. But she wondered if there was anywhere far enough away from him that would make her forget his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed and the touch of his skin. But, given time, she knew she could. A traitorous voice in the back of her mind screamed that she would not.

‘The truth, Henri.’ His hands skimmed her arms, sending fresh sparks throughout her. ‘Lie to yourself if
you must, but forget lying to me. Can you turn your back and go? Can you forget? Because I know, God as my witness, I will remember and I will long to taste your lips again.’ He rubbed his thumb against her aching mouth, causing her insides to tremble. ‘The truth, Henrietta—are you going to walk out of my arms and not look back?’

Slowly she shook her head. The other night she had been able to walk away from him, but not now. Suddenly she felt more alive than she had in years. It was as though, after Edmund’s death, something had died within her as well and she thought that she would never be whole again. But now, with Robert’s arms about her, she knew that little bit of her had not perished, but had been merely in abeyance, waiting. Except Edmund had never made this raging ache grow within her.

‘I want to stay.’ She held out her hands, palms upwards. His fingers curled about hers and pulled her to him. Her body shuddered with an inexorable fever.

‘Is that all you want?’ he whispered against her hair.

‘I want to be here with you and feel your lips against mine. I want to taste you.’ She stood on her tiptoes and brought his face closer to hers. His lips hovered above hers, tantalising her with their nearness ‘I know what I am doing, Robert. I’ve stopped lying. You’re right. Martyrdom and I are a poor combination. I want to indulge.’

Her hands grasped Robert’s hair and held him against her. He groaned and his arms went around her, moulding her body to his.

The flickers of heat flamed, growing stronger with each touch of Robert’s tongue against her skin. Every
inch of her was sensitive to his touch. It was not right and yet it seemed so right to be in his arms. Perhaps she was like Sebastian—afflicted by an attraction that would vanish once she had bedded Robert. All she had to do was to put aside her womanly notions of convention and manners, and think like a man. This deep brooding was passion, not pure love like she had felt for Edmund. She’d never understood the difference before.

Men had no problems with passion. They simply took their pleasure. She could do this. This was all about their shared physical attraction. Physical need, rather than engaging her heart. She would be able to walk away with her head held high and her heart unscathed when this was done. She would not lose him because she had never had him. They could be discreet with precise planning.

‘Stay,’ she murmured. ‘Please stay with me.’

Her back touched the wall of the summer-house, which supported her as his mouth moved lower. Her breasts strained against her stays as her nipples tightened. He slipped a finger between the material and her skin. Stroked. A convulsive shudder went through her and her back arched upwards, seeking his touch.

The white-hot heat burnt through her body, reaching her soul, and everywhere his cool mouth went, her fevered skin received some relief. However, the instant it had moved on, her skin craved more.

With expert fingers he loosened her dress and exposed the tops of her breasts, which strained upwards, seeking his touch. He brushed the material away, and his mouth captured one dark rose-hued nipple. His tongue encircled its tip, tracing circles on her heated flesh. Nuzzled, sending ripples of pleasure coursing through her. Pleasure
that she’d never guessed could exist, but the sort she knew she wanted to give back to him.

Her back arched and her body encountered his arousal. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. The knowledge made her feel powerful. Fire surged through her, urging her to throw away her caution.

‘Robert,’ she breathed, burying her fingers into his crisp dark hair, exploring its silky smoothness.

He made no answer, but took her other breast from its confines. His breath teased the tightly furled bud, making it contract tighter until the ache thrummed through her. Then he captured it in his mouth, running his tongue over and around the nipple.

Henri’s knees melted and she gripped on to his shoulders in an effort to keep upright. His knee parted her legs, rubbing against the apex of her thighs, rocking her body back and forth. The ache in her centre spread outwards. Her world had come down to this one point and the way his touch inflamed her.

She put her hands on his chest and started to undo the buttons, slipped her hand inside. The smooth contours of his chest slid under the pads of her fingers. Her hand touched his nipples and they became hardened points. Her own tightened in response. He desired her. She had done this to him.

‘Henri,’ he breathed in her ear. ‘I want you in bed with me, but I doubt I’ll last until we find one. I need you under me, around me and with me.’

Not trusting her voice, Henri moved her hands lower, undid the buttons of his trousers and slipped in. The length of him was hard, but velvet smooth, alive and vital against her fingers. He groaned. His hand caught her wrist.

‘You’ll unman me.’ He titled her chin upwards so she stared into his golden amber gaze. ‘What do you want, Henri?’

‘This,’ she said, giving voice to her desire. ‘You inside me.’

She thought back to her sixteen-year-old self. Then it had always been in a darkened room, late at night. She had been a blushing bride, a virgin, and Edmund had sought to gently initiate her. She’d spent years wondering what the fuss was about. Edmund had seemed relieved that she hadn’t pursued that side of the marriage with much vigour. She hadn’t understood what she was missing…until now.

Henri sucked in her breath. Now at twenty-six, she realised that there had been love, but no passion in her marriage. And she wanted for once in her life to experience the full glory of passion. She could make demands on her partner. She could make love in the sunlight. It felt good to say the words because she could. Because the sensation of his body moving against hers was sending her up in flames.

‘Please,’ she whispered, willing him to understand why without explaining her reasons.

‘Here?’ he asked, cupping her face in his hands. His mobile mouth loomed over hers. ‘In the open? By the summer-house? Is that what you want?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered and steeled herself for his refusal. Even though she knew there was little chance of being caught, the risk somehow made it more exciting. Sinfully wicked, but very right. It was something she had never done before and she wanted to experience it. With him. A liquid thrill coursed through her. ‘Oh, yes.’

A light flared in his eyes. He cupped her face between
his hands and his eyes became deep golden pools, pools she could lose herself in, where she would never come to any harm. ‘As my lady requests…’

She raised herself up on her tiptoes and brushed his lips, tasting his sun-ripened skin and the cool interior of his mouth. ‘I do. Now, please.’

He lifted her skirts, and she guided his hand to her mound. She held his warm palm firmly against her. His fingers played amongst the curls, slipping in and out, gliding over her innermost surfaces with a sure touch. The ache rose within her like a great crested wave, building momentum as it consumed her.