He palmed her breast over the heavy fabric of her day dress and she gasped. Her nipple was so hard he could see it, despite the thickness of the material. He imagined all the ways that he could take her. Probably it would best if she straddled him…
And then he remembered his resolution from the other night. What he had said to her—about their next time being in a bed. True, after the gunshot wound, they’d had conversations that hadn’t ended in a session of frantic rutting. But, all of a sudden, he realized that he needed to stick to his promise. Somehow, it had become important to him.
“Henrietta. We can’t. Not here.”
“Trem,” she groaned. “Why not?”
“I promised you that our next time would be in a bed. And, as you may have noticed, we are presently in a coach.”
“Bollocks a coach,” she said, kissing him again, making his refusal waver, but he managed to break the kiss.
“I promised you. And myself. Anyway, it wouldn’t kill us to converse for the duration of this coach ride instead.”
“As in criminal conversation?” she said, biting her lip once more and looking irresistible.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, “as in actual conversation. Getting to know each other.”
“But we already know each other so well.”
He shook his head, wanting her to understand. “I know so much of you as John’s sister. I want to know you for yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything.” He paused. “But you’ll have to return to the other side of this carriage or I am not going to hear anything you say because I’ll just be looking at your bosom.”
She sighed but moved all the same. “You’ll be looking at my bosom anyway.”
“True. But at least from this distance I can’t reach out and touch it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Perhaps Henrietta should have felt offended that Trem would rather converse than tup her in the carriage. But she knew it was not a lack of desire on his part—she had felt his desire, very hard and very evident against her thigh—but his genuine sense that they should devote themselves to getting reacquainted as future husband and wife.
So, they conversed. Over the clatter of the carriage wheels and as the lush scenery rolled by, they talked as they never had before. They had, of course, had many conversations over the years, but this time their talk was different. She was no longer speaking to him as John’s little sister and he was no longer addressing her as her elder brother’s best friend.
First, he asked about her childhood at Edington Hall, the parts that he hadn’t seen as an occasional albeit enthusiastic visitor. She told him of how it felt to live in the gloom of her father’s broken heart and how lonely it had been to be a child in such a beautiful, empty home.
“Papa was never fully there—although he loved me. I always knew that. But I was mostly raised by the servants, most of whom don’t work at Edington Hall any longer. I can barely remember some of them. Except for Mrs. Morrison, of course. She has never left.”
“Ah, Mrs. Morrison.” Trem grinned. “She caught me raiding the pantry one evening when I was twelve…and with a chambermaid when I was seventeen.”
“She was like a mother to me,” Henrietta said, smiling at the idea of Mrs. Morrison reprimanding Trem. “But she could be very severe.” And then a thought occurred to her. “What chambermaid?!”
Trem squinted as if trying to look through the years between then and now. “Blond hair, freckles. To be honest, I can’t remember much more. I don’t think it was a particularly passionate tryst on either side—and certainly not after Mrs. Morrison discovered us.”
“I remember her! Her name was Sarah.” Henrietta bit her lip. She had a question for him, but she wasn’t sure how to ask it. She knew it might sound foolish to him, but she still needed to hear the answer.
“You’ve been with so many women,” she continued. “How can you tell—well—with me—”
“That it is special?” he asked, reaching for her hand. He rubbed the skin of her wrist as he waited for her reply.
“Yes.”
“Exactly as you do.” His voice was low and thoughtful. “You were with Justin. And I’m sure it was pleasant enough. I hope it was—for your sake. Was it?”
She looked up and met his eyes.
“Yes. Good even. But just not…”
