Forbidden (28 page)

Authors: Nicola Cornick

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Historical

BOOK: Forbidden

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“Henry.” Margery’s voice stopped him when he was halfway across
the room. “Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.”

She sat up. The nightgown, so pale and virginal, slid
innocently down the slopes of her breasts to leave one pink nipple partially
exposed through the lace. Henry almost groaned.

“Margery,” he said. “I really should go—”

She held out a hand to him. “You would not, I hope, reject a
request from a lady,” she said. She patted the bed beside her. “All I want you
to do is hold me so that I feel safe.”

Expressed like that, it would have been churlish of him to
refuse. Or so Henry told himself later. He went back to the bed and took off his
jacket and boots, very conscious of Margery’s bright gaze watching him. He was
about to lie down beside her when she put out an imperious hand.

“You cannot go to bed with your clothes on,” she said.
“Everyone knows that.”

She was definitely foxed. Henry sighed. He stripped off his
cravat and shirt. The breeches, he was determined, would stay on despite the
fact they currently felt several sizes too small.

He slid into bed beside her. She immediately rolled into the
curve of his arm, made a very happy sound and fell asleep. Henry felt awed and
full of wonder, as though someone had given him a very precious gift. It felt
almost too much, as though he did not deserve it, as though something would
snatch such happiness away from him.

He smoothed his hand down Margery’s back, gently caressing the
flare of her waist and the curve of her buttock. It was to soothe her, he
promised himself. There was nothing sexual about it. He would not take advantage
of an unconscious woman. Margery made another sleepy, happy sound and wriggled
against him, so Henry stroked her again, and then again. This time the sound she
made in response was definitely more sensual than sleepy. Henry licked her bare
shoulder, letting his teeth graze her collarbone. Margery rolled back, away from
him, eyes closed, a little smile on her lips. With one sinuous wiggle she shed
the nightgown and lay naked and quite abandoned, her body open to him in
flagrant invitation.

Henry struggled with his conscience for all of a minute then he
bent his head to her breasts, teasing their peaks, kissing a path across the
delicious swell of her stomach, dipping his tongue in her navel. Her legs parted
invitingly, she arched in demand, but instead of obliging her, he rolled her
over onto her front.

She gave a little squeak of surprise and then a sigh as he
straddled her, brushed her hair over her left shoulder and started to kiss his
way down her spine, his tongue flicking over her ribs, leaving not an inch of
her skin untouched. She was shivering now, little delighted quivers that raised
the goose bumps on her skin.

Henry bit down gently on the swell of her buttock and with
great deliberation let his tongue dip into the tantalizing gap at the top of her
thighs. This time she moaned and jerked beneath him, trying to turn over to face
him again. He allowed her to roll over then slid his hand between her thighs to
find the soft, damp core of her. He gave her one sly stroke. Her body jerked
against his fingers, begging for more. He made her wait then did it again, each
slide of his hand driving her higher, closer to completion.

Her hair was a mass of tumbled brown silk, her face stung pink
with arousal, her lips parted. Her eyes were still closed and her lashes spiky
against her cheeks. Henry watched her entire body tremble for him.

She opened her eyes. “Please, Henry,” she said. Her voice was
barely a whisper and her gaze was unfocused, lost. “Please.”

Henry felt lost, too, utterly adrift with unfamiliar emotion.
She looked so tempting and abandoned. He felt awed simply to touch her. She was
all gentleness and vulnerability, strength and sweetness.

“Please,” she begged again.

Henry pushed her thighs apart and placed his mouth against the
hot center of her. She came at once, grabbing a pillow to smother her screams,
biting on it as he held her down by the hips and licked her until she shattered
again and again, arching under his hands. Her body convulsed with heat and
pleasure until finally she lay tumbled in uninhibited bliss, and her gasps for
breath were the only sound in the quiet room.

Henry watched her as she returned to consciousness, watched the
flutter of her lashes and the slow, satiated movements of her body. He felt as
though he would never tire of watching her, which was wonderful because he would
have an entire lifetime to enjoy with her. He truly was the most fortunate man
in the world.

Eventually she propped herself up on her elbows and looked at
him through half-closed eyes that glittered a deep, sensual gray.

“How glad I am,” she said, a little smile curving her lips,
“that you decided to stay with me.” She glanced down. Her eyes widened to their
farthest extent.

“Oh, my goodness,” she said faintly.

Henry was sporting an enormous erection. It was not that he had
not noticed, simply that somewhere along the way, arousing Margery had become
more important than seeking his own pleasure.

Margery shifted, drawing him to her, their kiss a mixture of
tenderness and desire. Henry slid into her slick body and felt her sigh with
renewed delight. He took it as slowly as he could, drawing nearly out of her,
surging back within, keeping the rhythm as slow and steady as he could.

The clasp of her body and the caress of her hands were almost
too much for him, and when she came again, the vortex of pleasure became so
intense it was almost pain and he emptied himself within her in the most
explosive climax of his life.

He drew Margery close, holding her as though he would never let
her go. She opened her eyes. They were as bright as stars. Her lips curved into
the most perfect smile.

“I love you so much, Henry,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to
his lips. “So very much.”

The pang of emotion that hit Henry then almost felled him. He
thought of the cold expanse of his past, and the risk he had taken on love when
he had been young, and how empty and shallow that feeling had been compared to
the strength of his emotions now.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to recognize how much I love
you,” he said, his voice ragged. “I’m not good at this. I don’t like losing
control.”

He felt the laughter ripple through her. “I had noticed.”

“But I’ll do it for you,” Henry said. “I will love you and
cherish you and lay my heart beneath your feet—”

She stopped him with another kiss. “You already have done,” she
said dreamily.

Without her, he was not whole. She knew that without words. Her
arms tightened about him and the world felt a sweet peaceful place again. The
last of his barriers fell. She was his, his anchor, the still center he needed.
He whispered again that he loved her. It was getting easier to say the words. In
time he suspected he might even grow to like it.

“I want to tell you about Isobel,” he said.

Margery opened her eyes wide. “Thank you, but I don’t want to
talk about her now,” she said.

Well, perhaps not. In time, Henry thought, he would tell her
everything, everything of his youthful infatuation and the way that Isobel had
ripped apart his love and his faith, and the darkness that had followed. And he
would tell her how she had brought back the light.

But now Margery was touching him with tender little strokes
over his shoulders and his back and his hips, and he discovered that he did not
want to talk either. Her small hands roamed in very interested exploration and
in a while Henry felt himself grow hard again and he groaned as he slid inside
her, to worship her with fierce caresses and endless words of love.

Margery gave herself with a generosity that awed him
completely. And there in her tangled sheets they held one another, united in
bliss and peace.

“So you’ll be marrying me for love,” Henry said later, Margery
in his arms, her head pillowed on his chest.

She tilted her head and smiled at him. “I will,” she said. “Oh,
yes, I will.” Her smile became more dazzling still. “And just so that you are
aware, I do not expect you to give up your work simply because you are marrying
the richest heiress in the kingdom.”

Henry laughed. He rolled her beneath him and held her there,
pinned against him, every one of her delectable curves pressed against him.

“What if I do not want to work?”

“You must,” Margery said. She drew his head down to kiss him.
“The Duke of Wellington says that you are the best engineer he ever knew,” she
whispered. “He threatened to have you court martialed if you give up your post
at the Board of Ordnance.”

Much later, as he slid toward sleep, Henry remembered that he
had to leave. Morning was only a few hours away and the maid could not find him
here, still less his mother. He tried to get up but Margery reached out and
clung to him and she was so warm and so giving that he allowed her to draw him
back into her arms.

The next thing he knew it was morning and Edith was screaming
and had dropped Margery’s hot chocolate on the floor because somehow the covers
had rolled back and he and Margery were lying there in complete abandon, naked
as when they had been born.

Margery was complaining at the noise and saying that she had a
headache and what had happened because she could remember nothing at all after
Edith had given her brandy the previous night. For a dreadful moment Henry had
thought it was true, then he saw Margery was laughing at him, and felt a huge
rush of relief.

Chessie was standing at the bottom of the bed, trying to keep
her face straight while his mother picked his clothes up and threw them at him.
Lady Wardeaux said that she had been wrong, he was not as bad as his father, he
was much, much worse.

EPILOGUE

The Sun: Happiness and joy

E
VERYONE
AGREED
THAT
IT
was a lovely wedding.

Lady Wardeaux occupied the front row of the groom’s side of the
church supported by her nephew the Duke of Farne, with his duchess. The Earl of
Templemore gave the bride away. Alex Grant and Owen Rothbury were groomsmen.
Lady Grant and Lady Rothbury were matrons of honor. The
on
dit
was that Tess Rothbury was increasing, and she did indeed look
radiantly happy.

Lord Stephen Kestrel escorted Lady Francesca Alton and took
advantage of the occasion to ask her brother, Sir James Devlin, for Chessie’s
hand in marriage. Chessie and Lady Devlin cried all over each other because they
were so happy. The arrival at the last minute of the groom’s cousin Ethan Ryder
and his wife, Lottie, was the cause for yet more celebration, and when all Mrs.
Tong’s girls trooped into the pews at the back looking like a flight of gaudy
butterflies, the congregation was complete.

The only sorrow was that Lady Emily Templemore had not
recovered her health and it seemed she might never do so. There was also the
delicate fact that the bride’s adoptive brother was on trial for murder, but no
one allowed that to spoil the day.

At the end of the service Henry picked his mother up and spun
her around and kissed her. Lady Wardeaux had declared herself scandalized, but
Margery had seen tears in her eyes and thought she had almost smiled. Perhaps,
Margery thought, Lady Wardeaux would one day discover that it was safe to laugh;
one’s face would not crack.

The wedding breakfast was lavish. Margery had made the wedding
cake herself. Mrs. Tong’s girls made short work of it.

“You always were a dab hand with the confectionery, Margery,”
Miss Kitty said. “Don’t suppose you’ll be able to do that now you’re a lady,
though.”

“I’m thinking of opening my own shop,” Margery said. “There’s
no point in being an heiress if you can’t do what you want.”

The whole of Templemore was lit up that night in a party for
their guests, family and friends. Blazing torches lit the drive. A thousand
candles illuminated the mirrored ballroom. The house had come alive. Margery, in
a pale green gown and the Templemore emeralds, waited for Henry to lead her down
to dance at their wedding.

He came into her dressing room, very stern and handsome in his
evening clothes with a battered red velvet case in his hand. He looked at her,
looked at the emeralds and smiled.

“You know how much I love you in those jewels,” he said, “but I
have something here you might prefer.”

He held out the case to her. Margery slipped the catch. Inside,
nestling on its bed of red velvet, was her golden locket. It was open. The
miniatures had been cleaned and they glowed in exquisite color, her mother and
her father, so haughty, so handsome, so much a pair in many ways, even if they
could not be happy together.

Margery smiled radiantly at her husband. “Thank you,” she
whispered as she reached up to kiss him. Henry had known, she thought. He had
known how much it meant to her to reclaim her past before she could step into
her future. No matter who her parents were, no matter what they had done, she
needed them in order to feel whole.

Henry unfastened the emeralds. Margery felt his hands shaking a
little as his fingers brushed her nape. She bent her head as he placed the
locket about her neck and then it was nestling warm and golden between her
breasts, against her heart.

“For a little while,” she said, “when I first came to
Templemore, I did not know who I was, who I had become. I felt as though I was
no longer Margery Mallon but I did not know how to be Marguerite
Saint-Pierre.”

Henry wrapped his arms about her. His warmth cradled her
close.

“And now?” His breath stirred her hair.

“Now,” Margery said, “I have come home.”

* * * * *