Henry would do Birdy a world of good, Margaret thought.He will be a wonderful father one day.
At a lull in the conversation, Henry closed his eyes.
“You must be exhausted, Your Grace,” Margaret said.
His slow smile made her heart speed up. He didn’t open his eyes. “I’m merely resting my eyes.”
“Up with you. We’ll all turn in early. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll have something to share.”
He sat up brightly at that. “I’m awash in curiosity about this project of yours. It is what had you haring off to this sweet little house in the wilds of Northumberland, isn’t it?”
She rose, and he did too. “It is one of the things; freedom is a great attraction, insofar as a woman can hope for freedom.”
*
Margaret’s cottage wasa square building, three stories in all, with the more public rooms below stairs. The sitting room in which they’d enjoyed their after-dinner tea was on the first floor up. When Ellen scurried into a room on that same floor to the rear of the house, leaving them alone by the stairway, Henry realized they stood next to Margaret’s own bedroom. He’d been given a room one more floor up.Wise, that.
He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers.
“Good night, Your Grace,” she whispered.
“Enough ‘Your Grace,’ Margaret. It was well enough in front of your companion, but you know my name. I want to hear it on your lips.” He tugged her hand, bringing her closer, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.
“Henry,” she said.
“I like that. Say it again,” he said, lowering his head, bringing his mouth within inches of hers.
“Henry,” she breathed.
She leaned ever so slightly forward when she said it. It was all the invitation he needed. He captured her mouth with his in a kiss as intense as it was gentle. One hand came up to cup her face, and his thumb caressed her cheek. She opened for him then, and the kiss heated. As her breathing sped up and she moaned under his ministrations, blood drained from his brain to pool in his male organs, aroused and on full alert.
His arm snaked around her back to pull her flush against his body with a groan, and they sagged against the wall. No, not the wall. A door. The door to her bedroom.
“Henry,” she said again, against his mouth this time.
He captured it in his and whispered back, “Margaret. My Margaret.”
She stiffened just the slightest bit, but he loosened his hold and moved back just enough to allow air between them, and to study her face. “Not yet,” she murmured, her eyes on his.
It took a moment for his brain to process her words. “Not yet,” he repeated. “But soon.” He took a step back. “If I don’t go upstairs this minute, you will be forced to marry me and quickly. I won’t take away your choice. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He left before he could change his mind. It may have been wishful thinking, but as he climbed the steps, he thought he heard her deep voice echo, “Soon.”
*
After a sleeplessnight, Margaret rose at dawn, dressed in one of her older gowns, and put on her gardening smock. She had time to work before breakfast.
Plagued by heat from Henry’s kisses, and the acute awareness of him just above her, she’d stared at the ceiling most of the night, wishing her gaze could penetrate the wood and plaster. The foolish man had nattered on about taking away her choices, yet he’d fled up the stairs. She wasn’t sure whether she regretted her “not yet.” She suspected if he’d given her a choice there in the hallway, she’d have flung open her bedroom door and dragged him in.
She wanted him, of that she had no doubt, but he was wiser. They needed to proceed carefully. If he’d stayed, they would have been boxed in.
“More’s the pity,” she muttered to herself as she ducked into her glasshouse.
Yet she was certain he wanted her just as much. As a woman who had aged past the marriageable stage, who had frightened off the ninnies who’d courted her at nineteen, who had resigned herself to lingering spinsterhood with only her roses for company, she found his desire overwhelming. Somehow, she had attracted the notice of a handsome young duke, the greatest catch in the united kingdoms. Far better than that, she had attracted the attention of a man who liked and respected her. One who gave her choices. She couldn’t stop smiling.
She picked up a trowel, prepared to loosen soil in several beds, but another joy awaited her in bed seven, stopping her in her tracks. The first of the little white buds had opened most of the way.
“I knew I’d find you here, in your haven.” Henry’s voice rumbled through the glasshouse and vibrated in her body. Standing in front of the door he had carefully closed, his hair mussed and nightly stubble on his chin, he took her breath away. She cursed the impulse to run out here in her old smock, her head bound in a scarf, before dressing for breakfast.What must he think?
He glanced around him, studying her operation. “This is where you work your magic?” He peered at her, his face solemn. “And keep your secrets.”
