But then she spied the glass case they were heading toward and she realized why they were there. So she could finally see how the automaton worked. She moved toward it, studying the figure more closely this time than when she’d last seen it. The detail on his face was impeccable.
Henry reached behind the case and wound a lever. A soft grinding of cogs and wheels accompanied the slow movement of the machine. Viola watched in fascinated silence as he dipped his quill in his inkwell, repositioned himself and proceeded to write. The letters appeared to be neat, though perhaps a bit shaky at times, but overall, it looked as if they were written by a real live person as opposed to by a machine.
Squinting, she tried to discern the words, but they blurred just enough around the edges to make it impossible for her to do so effectively.
“These might help,” Henry said, gently nudging her arm.
Viola glanced down at his hand and smiled. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the spectacles and placing them carefully on the bridge of her nose.
“I have this relentless fantasy,” Henry murmured while sliding his arm around her shoulders, “of you wearing my shirt and spectacles and with your hair falling softly around your shoulders.”
Viola’s breath hitched and her skin tingled with awareness. “How am I to concentrate on anything when you continue to muddle my head?”
He grinned and stepped away, adding distance. “Forgive me, but you’re a treat I’m having some trouble resisting.”
Loving the effect she had on him, she gave him an adoring smile before returning her attention to the automaton’s work. Words had started to emerge and Viola was eager to know what they said. She leaned forward and started to read.
You are my life, my world, my...The automaton scratched a few more letters... everything.
“I wanted it write Shelley’s latest poem for you, but I was limited to only forty characters.”
Viola removed the spectacles with trembling fingers and turned to her husband, who was standing utterly still, his eyes fixed upon her with intense anticipation. Closing the distance between them, Viola pressed her mouth to his, kissing him with endless degrees of gratitude and affection. She was vaguely aware of tears clinging to her lashes, the joy thrumming through her so powerful it caused her to weep.
“I am so blessed to be married to you, Henry. You truly are the most incredible man I have ever known.”
“You don’t know the half of it yet,” he told her, and swept her up into his arms.
She squealed with surprise and then laughed with delight as he carried her out the room. “But I’m about to show you,” he promised in low, seductive tones.
Winding her arms around his neck, Viola held on tight as he marched toward the stairs and proceeded to climb. Gone was her earlier apprehension, replaced by wanton desire.
This was Henry, after all, a man who thought her the most beautiful woman in the world, even if no one else ever had. He loved her, and because of that, Viola knew deep in her heart that whatever passed between them was destined to be special.
Reaching the landing, Henry turned right and continued toward the door at the end. “I know we never discussed this,” he said as they entered the bedchamber, “but I’m rather hoping you’ll agree to sharing a room instead of sleeping apart. Of course, if you prefer, I’ve—”
“Yes,” she said before he could finish. “The alternative never even crossed my mind, Henry. I’ve always imagined us sleeping together and...” She felt her cheeks warm beneath the heat of his gaze. “I like the idea of us spending as much time together as possible.”
Setting her on her feet, he closed the door behind them, shutting them away in a lovely room decorated in creamy tones. A massive canopy bed occupied most of the space, dwarfing the armchairs that stood to one side and the dresser beneath the window.
Viola stared at the bed and tried to steady the rapid beats of her heart, but all effort to do so dissolved when she felt Henry’s hands on her waist. He’d stepped up behind her, his chest pressed securely against her back.
“Viola,” he murmured, and proceeded to place a series of kisses along her shoulder.
Sighing, she leaned into the caress and surrendered to his ministrations. His teeth nipped her skin and a frisson went through her, teasing her senses and making her restless.
Henry’s hands left her waist and slid up her sides, exploring each curve until finally, when she feared she might die from her need to be touched more fully, he gave his attention to the buttons on her gown.
To her dismay, it felt as though his fingers trembled as he unhooked them, and when he pulled the gown down over her hips and asked her to step out of it, his voice shook.
On bended knee before her, he gazed up the length of her body as if she were Venus and he her mortal servant. Almost hesitantly, his fingers traced over one ankle and up the length of her leg. He paused when he reached the edge of her stocking, closed his eyes briefly as if in deep veneration and then peeled the silk slowly away.
Setting the flimsy stocking aside, he went to work on the next one until both legs were completely bare. “You have the most delicate ankles,” he said as he brushed his thumb over her skin. “I noticed when we were at the beach and you hitched up your skirt to prevent the hem from getting wet.” Stroking his way up her calf, he paused to toy with the edge of her chemise. “Since then I’ve had the most demanding need to uncover your knees...” He slid the chemise higher. “Your thighs...” His palms settled firmly against her as he rose, dragging the fine cotton upward. “Your belly and...” He swept the chemise up and over her head, pulling her stays off with it and leaving Viola completely naked. “Your breasts.”
Viola sucked in a breath. She’d been so entranced by his touch she’d completely ignored his intention. For a second she stood as if frozen, but then she saw his expression and the way in which he was staring.
“Christ, Viola...” He spoke with sensual yearning and with so much desire that all inhibition she might have had ceased to exist at that exact moment.
Tentatively he reached out and touched her, the reverence in his gaze compelling her to be bold, to abandon restraint and to follow his lead. So she raised her hand and tugged at his knotted cravat and pulled until it was gone. Next came his jacket, which she pushed down over his arms. It was followed by his waistcoat, both items landing on the floor in quick succession. Eager to feel his skin against hers, she grabbed at his shirt and pushed it upward.
