Two Passionate Proposals (10 page)

She glanced around. Nobody was watching
them. With the servants all otherwise engaged, the tables wouldn’t be cleared
until morning. She looked back at Henry. Turning in her chair slightly toward
him, she placed her hands on her thighs and slowly began to hitch up her
skirts. His gaze sank to watch, and his lips parted as he gave a shaky sigh.
She smiled. Her hand found the end of her gown, and then she ran her fingers
leisurely up, bringing the skirts with them, exposing her pale thighs. She
couldn’t believe she was doing this; she must have drunk more wine than she’d
realised. When had she turned so wanton, so shameless? No doubt something
inside her had changed when she watched him touch himself and realised sex
could be something more than mechanics…something wonderful and erotic.

Henry leaned back in his chair, his dark
eyes steady on her, his hands folded in his lap, and stretched out his long
legs between hers. Slowly, he pushed his feet apart, spreading her legs.
Eleanor let him, turning right around to face him. He caught his breath, and
she felt a wave of exultance at the power she had to affect him. She brushed
her pubic hair with her fingers, then slid them between her legs.

Henry let his breath out in a heavy sigh.
She smiled and slipped a finger inside, catching some of the wetness, before
returning to stroke herself. Her cheeks were hot, but the thought of him
watching her pleasure herself was incredibly arousing.

She moved forward to the edge of her seat
so she could lean back, supporting herself with one hand on the seat of the
chair. With his legs still between hers, every now and then he pushed them a
little wider. She continued to caress her swollen lips and sensitive core, her
breathing growing deeper, irregular. Slowly, she brought herself nearer to her
climax, the way she’d learned to over the years when Geoffrey had vacated her
bed after sex, leaving her unfulfilled and aching for satisfaction.

Could she really do this while Henry
watched? But it was the fact that he
was
watching that made her so
aroused. And besides, she’d watched him without his permission. It was only
fair she repaid the debt.

He continued to stare, his eyes filled with
hot desire. If anyone else had looked upon her with such intensity, she would
have died with embarrassment, but she’d loved this man since she was fourteen,
and had continued to love him, even though they’d been apart for so long. She’d
dreamed of him many times, pictured him every day. He wasn’t a stranger, not
really.

Her orgasm building, she tipped her head
back, glad of the darkness, knowing only he could see her actions. Her fingers
were slippery, her sex swollen and sensitive. She felt the familiar focusing of
her attention between her legs, her arousal intensified by Henry’s dark gaze,
and then her muscles started to tighten exquisitely. Soft sighs escaped her
lips, and she pressed her fingers into her hot flesh, her shamelessness
shocking her, the thought of him watching making her cheeks burn.

He moved forward and kissed her, hungry and
passionate, his tongue delving into the warmth of her mouth. She gasped, her
muscles still pulsing, but then he was lifting her onto his lap astride him,
pulling her close so she felt the hard length of him pressing against her. His
arms were tight around her, and for some reason, tears stung her eyes, though
she refused to let them fall.

He took the ribbon from the end of her hair
and began to loosen her braid, not stopping until her long tresses lay around
her shoulders in a cloak of gold. He caught his hands in it, as if he liked the
silkiness on his skin, and studied her. His eyes, minutes ago warm with
affection, now grew serious. “Ella . . . .”

“No,” she said before she could think
better of it. “I am tired of being responsible and dutiful, and I will be so
for the rest of my life, I promise. Tomorrow, you can go and see the king, and
wherever he wants me to go, I shall go, I will not argue. But now, I want one
night where I can forget about what I should be doing, and think only of what I
want to do.”

He pulled her tightly to him. “And what do
you want to do?”

She hesitated. To be perfectly honest, she
wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she wanted him to kiss her and touch her,
and wipe away the memory of her husband pawing at her like a slavering dog with
a bone. But how could she put that into words?

His eyes, however, showed he understood. “Come.”
He rose from his seat, holding her, and let her slide down his body until her
feet touched the floor. Taking her hand, he led her behind the dais to the
stairs leading to the bedchambers. She climbed quickly behind him, her heart
thumping.

Halfway up, however, he stopped with a
curse.

“What is it?” Was he having second
thoughts?

“I forgot to tell my squire we are leaving
early in the morning. I want him to have my horse ready.” He kissed her hand. “You
go up. I will not be long.”

She watched him disappear back down the
stairs, then climbed to her bedchamber. Once inside, she pushed the door
closed. In spite of the warmth of the day, the evening had cooled, and the maid
had lit the fire. The flames filled the room with a welcome, warm glow.

Suddenly, she was afraid. She wanted this
more than anything but felt flustered, unsure. She only ever had bedded
Geoffrey. She knew where everything fit, but she had no idea how to please a
man. Geoffrey hadn’t seemed to need any help; he’d pleasured himself without
aid from her. Henry, however, had seemed disappointed when he described his
late wife in the same way.

Eleanor sighed. She’d been shameless and
behaved with abandon in the hall, but this was different—this time, he would be
touching her, and would expect her to touch him and please him, too. Did he
think she was skilled at lovemaking simply because she’d performed for him?
Because if he did, he was in for a big shock.

Her hands shook as she removed her
over-tunic, folded it, and laid it on the coffer. Then she removed her shoes.
She left her linen under-tunic on. Geoffrey had liked her clothed, and though
she felt certain Henry didn’t feel the same way about the naked form, she wasn’t
sure. She climbed onto the bed and lay back on the pillows.

Eleanor waited as patiently as she could,
although her heart pounded in her ears, and her mouth had gone dry with panic.

*

In the hall, Henry marched over to his
squire, hiding a smile as he lifted the blanket and the girl underneath
squealed. Politely pretending she was invisible, he instructed the young man to
have his horse ready at first light, then left them to it, his desire rising at
the thought of Eleanor waiting for him.

He ran up the stairs, two at a time. He
couldn’t believe what she’d done in the hall, or that she’d now offered herself
to him. He would never have asked; he would have been certain she would have
refused, but he recognised her hunger for affection. Although he didn’t want to
take advantage of her vulnerability, he desired her so much that he couldn’t turn
her down.

He pushed open the door to the chamber and
entered.

Eleanor lay on the bed on her back, hands
on her stomach, fingers linked, her blonde hair spread across the pillows. He
shut the door behind him and walked around the bed in front of the fire.

She gave him a nervous smile, but didn’t
move. He stood beside the bed and looked at her curiously. “Are you feeling all
right?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

He frowned. “Then what are you doing?”

“Waiting for you.” She blinked, her brow
furrowing.

Suddenly, he understood. A flash of
lovemaking with Maud flittered through his mind, her lying limp and
unresponsive in his embrace, and he frowned.

Eleanor sat up quickly, pushing down her
tunic, flushing. “Oh, I’ve made you angry.”

“Oh, Ella, not you, sweetheart.” He caught
her hand and pulled her up, bringing her toward him. He put one arm around her
waist and lifted her chin with the other. “Lovemaking is something that should
involve both man and woman. Let me try and explain,” he said huskily, and lowered
his lips to hers.

*

Eleanor accepted his kiss and wondered if
he could feel the thumping of her heart. She had a brief flashback to the
moment by the lake, and then the memory of young Hal disappeared, and there was
only Henry standing before her. He lowered his other hand, and now both strong
arms wrapped around her, pressing her close to him. He was hard against the
flat of her stomach, leaving her in no doubt he desired her, filling her mind
with the memory of him in the bathtub, glorious in his moment of climax. He
kissed her slowly, languidly, and she tried to concentrate on breathing as his
lips moved gently across hers.

Lovemaking should involve both man and
woman.
His words rang in her ears. Judging by the
look on his face, she’d not done the right thing by lying on the bed waiting
for him. He wanted her to do something. But what?

Sex with Geoffrey had always been somehow…sordid.
She’d had the impression he found lovemaking distasteful; that he did it to
assuage a physical need, but thought the female form disgusting, abhorrent.
Somehow, she didn’t think Henry felt the same. She so wanted to please him but
worried about doing the wrong thing.

His kiss deepened a little, and with a
start, she felt his tongue touch hers. Did he want her to react to the touch,
to kiss him back? She hesitated, then decided to try it. Tentatively, she ran
her tongue lightly over his lips.

He rewarded her with an intake of breath,
and drew back slightly to look at her. His deep blue eyes were filled with
passion, and instinctively she realised she’d pleased him.

This time when he kissed her, she pressed
herself against him, bringing her arms up between them, running her hands up
his chest, behind his neck, and into his hair. He sighed and left her lips to
kiss her cheeks and her ears, then travelled back up the line of her jaw to her
mouth. She sighed back, ran her hands through his dark hair, brushed her thumbs
on the slight stubble of his chin.

He dropped his hands, grazed her thighs,
moved his fingers against her leg, and she realised he was raising her
under-tunic, about to lift it over her head. In spite of her immodest act in
the Hall, she pushed herself back, widening her eyes in alarm. She’d never
stood naked before a man. Geoffrey had wanted her body covered.

Henry’s eyebrow rose. Without warning, he
lifted her in his arms, bringing her legs around him. She gasped, and he
laughed, moving the short distance to the coffer. He brushed the contents off
the top carelessly, and the tray and cakes placed there by the maid clattered
as they fell onto the rug, along with her folded gown. He sat her on the
coffer, then stepped back. “Me first, then.”

He lifted the hem of his blue tunic and
pulled it over his head. He dropped it onto the soft sheepskin rug in front of
the hearth. His muscles glowed bronze from the light of the fire, and once
again, she found herself fascinated by how he’d developed from slender youth to
powerful man.

Not taking his eyes from hers, he unlaced
his breeches and kicked them off. He stood a few feet from her, holding his
arms out at shoulder height, palms up, and turned full circle. “See?” He
teased. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Her breath caught at the beauty of his
body. No, he certainly had nothing to be ashamed of.

He came back to her and pulled her to her
feet. “Now, it is your turn.” He caught the bottom of her tunic. This time, she
didn’t stop him as he lifted it over her head and dropped it to the floor on
top of his.

She stood, naked, as his gaze ran all the
way down her and back again. If it were possible, he grew even harder, and his
eyes were as dark as the night sky. She shivered under the heat of his stare,
feeling as if she had been ravished, and he’d hardly touched her.

“You are beautiful.” Lifting her up once
again onto the coffer, he kissed her, but this time, as he did so, he began to
explore with his hands. He ran his palms down her body, cupped her breasts and ran
his thumb over her nipples, making her gasp with pleasure. Then his hand swept
lower, along the outside of her thigh to her knee, and then up the inside. He
brushed his fingers against her pubic hair, slid them between her legs. She
gasped, clutching hold of the curtain behind her, which sagged from the window
as her body tensed. He drew back a little to watch her, but didn’t stop
touching her. With her already slick from her previous orgasm, his fingers slid
easily inside her.

He inhaled, catching his breath, and cupped
her head with his free hand as he kissed her passionately. It was a power she
hadn’t known she possessed, this ability to drive a man to the edge of his
senses, and maybe beyond. The thought that she could make him feel as sensual
as he was making her feel was like strong wine, going straight to her head,
intoxicating and addictive, and she wanted more of it. At the moment, he looked
restrained, his emotions in control, but she wanted him as hot for her as she
was for him.

She opened her legs wider and received a
grunt of pleasure in response. He kissed her harder, deeper, and she moved her hips
against his hand, directing his touch.