“Let’s return to the house,” her father said. “And see what the ladies are up to.”
Henrietta darted behind a camellia hedge. Skirting the terraced yew garden, she took a well-used shortcut to the house through the kitchen gardens. Lady Atkyns was a brave adventurer, as well as an actress, she mused. How good that such brave women existed outside the strictures of society. Her request to go on the stage had not been so unreasonable although she’d decided against it. It would be flying the face of fortune, and she had her heart’s desire.
She hurried into the drawing room and was seated on the green damask chair with a book in her hands when the men entered. “Where have you two been? Sharing secrets, we women are not privy to?” she asked with a smile. She was gratified to see them look sheepish.
“Nothing of importance.” Christian smiled at her. “My, how pretty you look on that chair. It’s the same lovely green as your eyes.”
She came and kissed him and hugged her father. Nothing meant more to her than to have them safe and well.
The following Monday, she and Christian arrived at Owlpeg Manor, Christian’s country house in Gloucestershire. Henrietta adored everything about her new home, its Cotswold stone walls thick with ivy and climbing roses. Through the mullioned windows, she could see the River Severn flowing through a copse of graceful willow trees, beneath a cloudless pewter blue sky.
Three months later, Henrietta returned from consulting the housekeeper to find Christian pulling his fishing rods from a cupboard. He was so much stronger now, almost his old self, although some fragility remained. She believed it to be more the violence he’d witnessed than his wound, which had healed well, and she was determined to make him whole again through the power of her love. She would never tell him that she overheard him speak of his last campaign, but hoped he would one day confide in her.
She smiled at him as he examined a box of hooks. “Am I to be a fisherman’s widow?”
He raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “You fear you will be neglected?” He closed the box, took her hand, and led her up the stairs to their bedchamber. Once inside, he locked the door and leaned against it, slipping his arms around her waist.
“You smell delicious.” He pressed kisses over her neck and down to her breasts, drawing away her bodice.
Henrietta pulled him against her, her hands on his backside, his hardness pressed against her.
“You’re a bold lass,” he said, as they settled on the bed. He threw up her skirts, smiled at her as he unbuttoned his pants. With a lustful grin, he pushed her gently back onto the damask coverlet of the oak four-poster.
Someone called from the garden beneath the window. “That’s my neighbor, Jim Pertwee, come to fish for trout. Splendid fellow,” he said as he stroked between her thighs until she moaned. He settled between her legs. “You’ll like him.” The last word ended with a groan and a murmur of pleasure from Henrietta as he pushed into her.
Henrietta wrapped her legs around him. Her hips rose to meet his urgent thrusts, her hands under his shirt stroking his smooth skin. She had thought about this all morning. Christian came as the stamp of the butler’s boots sounded on the stairs. He rolled off her regretfully. “Tonight, my love.” He kissed her. “I promise to be a more considerate lover.”
He adjusted his clothing and was gone.
Henrietta stretched, smiling, as a pleasant lassitude washed over her. Tonight, she would tell him her news. He wished for a big family. She went to the looking glass to check on her hair before returning downstairs. He always managed to destroy its creation, preferring her locks down over her shoulders. She smiled and began to tidy the loose strands. If the baby was a boy, he’d make a nice fishing companion for Christian. She twisted the apple green ribbon through her fingers. And a girl might wish to go on the stage.
Whichever gift they were given would be treasured.
