“What we have,” he finished. “That is how it is for me, too.”
“But you’ve been with so many more people than I have. Surely, you’ve been with some women where it was better than good.”
She looked into Trem’s eyes. She so appreciated the seriousness of his expression. That he didn’t laugh or tease her for her concern.
“I certainly thought so at the time,” he said, gently. “And, of course, I liked some women a great deal more than others. And some experiences were very enjoyable. And some almost humiliating in their disappointment.”
“Like with Sarah?”
“I’m sorry to say that Sarah—and being caught bare-arsed by Mrs. Morrison—is definitely near the bottom of my erotic experiences.” He paused. “But, honestly, now, those other women blend together to me. I don’t—I won’t talk about those experiences, though, if you don’t like it.”
“No. It’s not that. I want to know where you’ve been and what you’ve done. It’s just that I can’t imagine being able to compare you to a stable of men. Or, rather, several stables.”
He laughed, but then his expression grew serious. “Do you wish it?”
“What do you mean?”
“To sleep with stables of men. I wouldn’t judge you if you did. I can’t say that I could accept you doing so, but I would understand.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t wish for that. The truth is that you’re the only man I—the only one I ever wanted, really.”
That earned a groan from her fiancé. And, very suddenly, he was kissing her mouth, his body between her legs.
“Your arm,” she objected, breaking the kiss.
But he didn’t stop.
He kissed her until both of them began to pant and then he drew away. He was resolute in his promise to her. She had to admire it, particularly when she could see the shape of his cockstand against his breeches. Her mouth filled with saliva at the sight.
Trem coughed, breaking the tension. “I have a Mrs. Morrison of my own you know,” he supplied. “Mr. Foxcroft. He has been to me what Mrs. Morrison has been to you. He’s my steward, but he worked for my father before me. He is the closest thing to a parent that I have ever known.”
“I look forward to meeting him. And hopefully he doesn’t catch me with any footmen.”
That comment earned her another torrent of kisses from Trem, who, once she was gasping under him, drew away and said, “Remember that whenever you next think about a footman.”
By the time they reached Rampisham, Henrietta marveled at all they had in common that she had never realized before. She had always seen him at a remove, a figure of mystery and power, and so she was surprised to learn all that they shared, from the fundamental to the quotidian. They had both been raised largely by servants and, while John was her actual brother, he was Trem’s in everything but fact. Furthermore, she learned that they both preferred chocolate cakes to vanilla, preferred the works of Oliver Goldsmith to Laurence Sterne, and didn’t care for the opera, although they wished they did and hated to admit that it bored them.
When they arrived at the inn, they discovered that they had a single room left—which sent anticipation snaking down Henrietta’s spine. Not that there was any chance she and Trem wouldn’t have shared a bed even if all of the rooms had been available. But it just underlined what she knew was to come.
The room at this inn was more modest than that at Mrs. Bercine’s more luxurious establishment. It held a rather small bed, a simple washbasin, and a chair.
As she entered the room, Henrietta couldn’t shake her nervousness. She knew it was absurd. This man had already seen her naked and very recently, too. It did not make sense to feel shy now. But, somehow, after their hours-long talk in the carriage, the atmosphere felt more serious. Like she wasn’t acting from impulse, from pure desire, but instead had full knowledge of what she was doing. She could see the door and was walking through it.
When they entered the room, Trem turned to her. For a moment, they just looked at each other.
“There is a bed,” she said, pointing to it, knowing that she must sound like a lackwit but unable to help it.
“Yes.” His expression looked as if he might devour her. His pupils were enlarged and she was pretty sure if she looked down at his breeches she would see that his cockstand had returned.
She advanced and kissed him. He brought his hand to her cheek, responding with a corresponding pressure.
Then, he broke the kiss.
“I want to see you,” he said, his voice a rasp.
“Aren’t you seeing me now?”
“No, all of you. I haven’t seen you—all of you—in days.”
