Leave a Widow Wanting More by Charlie Lane

Chapter 23

Henry stopped monitoring Nora’s progress atop the horse when she hit the target from a gallop on her fifth try. He gazed across the bowling green and shooting lawn. Zeus! He’d inadvertently acquired an all-in-one sporting establishment. More accurately, he’d established it. No, not precise enough. It had grown organically in his absence, as he’d given permission by letter for his daughters to do as they pleased. He’d say yes to anything to keep them happy.

Except come home for good.

The shooting range, the bowling green, the lake where James now taught the twins to swim. Was that wrong? Should the boys not be stripped down to their shirts and pants in front of the females? He pondered it. Relations between the sexes differed everywhere he went. He couldn’t quite tell the difference between right or wrong anymore. He rather thought the easy, free ways about Cavendish Manor perfection, but …

Where was Sarah? He’d know with one glance at her if the scene before them boded scandal or displayed perfection.

She and Ada lay stretched across a blanket beneath an armada of parasols set up to protect their complexions from the sun.

Too late. He’d noticed when he’d helped Sarah find the perfect shooting position that her nose was red. A freckle or two had appeared just on its tip. He’d wanted to kiss them. Then lick them. She wasn’t as pale after a week in the country. Her skin glowed, sun-kissed.

He wished she was Henry-kissed, too.

My fault.

All the pent-up desire coursing through him—his fault, as well. Entirely.

At least she didn’t look scandalized. She laughed with Ada about something or other. She looked happy. Ada looked happy. Pansy, sprawled at their feet playing with an assortment of tiny toy soldiers, looked happy. Nora’s face atop her horse was all concentration, but now and then a spark of pure joy escaped. Little-boy laughter rose from the lake, punctuated by splashes.

Heaven.

He’d found it. He’d died somewhere along his travels and found heaven.

He grunted. What foolish whimsy. No true heaven could be toppled so easily. No true heaven came with such a cost. Sarah brought heaven with her, but since he couldn’t touch her, heaven had transformed into his own personal hell.

Her gaze caught his. She smiled at him, steel glinting in the pert slant of her lips.

Henry stood. Distraction and evasion had turned out to be necessary strategies in the last eight days since he’d shared Sarah’s bed. “Nora, darling, no more.”

Nora brought her horse to an abrupt halt and bounced down from the saddle. “I’m tired anyway. And famished. Ada!”

“Yes, sister dear?”

“Shall we round up the ruffians below or leave them for Papa and Sarah to deal with?”

Sarah stood, smoothing the skirts of some gown Henry had never seen her wear before. “Just say the word food and they’ll come running of their own accord. Pansy, are you hungry?”

Pansy bounced up, abandoning the soldiers. “Yes!”

Sarah bracketed her hands around her mouth. “James! Nicholas! Thomas! Come eat!”

All three bodies within the lake bolted upright then scrambled for the shore. She’d gotten their attention all right.

But why?

She seemed to be packing all the children off. For what reason?

Didn’t matter. Henry couldn’t be caught alone with her. Evasion would be necessary. The children even now hurried toward the house. He raced after them. “I’m famished, too,” he said. “I’ll accompany the lot of you up—”

“Henry.” Sarah’s voice rang across the lawn, soft and sweet. “I’m tired and heated. The garden is rather cool this time of day, and I thought to stroll through it. Would you accompany me?”

Zeus. He couldn’t deny her a direct request, not after everything else he’d denied her.

And denied himself.

Sarah plucked a parasol from the ground and strolled toward him, taking his arm and turning him toward the gardens. His body tightened at her touch. He inhaled deeply of her as they walked. She smelled of grass and sunshine, and underneath that, she held the heady scent of paper and ink. Books. It drove him wild. His pulse raced. He itched to have her.

He caged the wild, locked it away. He’d just have to control the thrust of their conversation.

And not use or think of words like thrust.

“It occurs to me, Sarah, that I’ve made a mess of my family.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve allowed them to create a sort of sporting establishment complete with shooting range in our home.”

Sarah frowned. “James should not have taught the twins those boxing maneuvers. I thought they taught things like Latin at school, but he comes home with boxing maneuvers.” Her tone traveled past perplexed to outright dumbfounded.

Henry chuckled, unable to help himself. “The boys at school have as much to teach each other as the teachers have to teach them.”

“So I see. But if James had not taught the twins boxing, they would never have ended up at the lake. So, I’m half to blame for the sporting establishment. If it is improper. Do you think it is?”

Henry grimaced. “I have my suspicions.”

Sarah chewed her bottom lip in thought. “We just won’t tell anyone, then.”

“Sound plan. But what about Ada and Nora? You are to launch them into society next season.”

“Like a couple of ships upon the Thames.”

“And I’m not sure it’s quite proper for them to speak so freely of their appetites. Sarah, if you don’t stop chewing your bottom lip, I’ll—” Chew it for you. Zeus, he couldn’t say that.

“Oh. Was I? I didn’t know.”

He cleared his throat. “It’s a habit of yours.”

“Is that inappropriate, as well? I suppose I can try to stop it.”

“No. Don’t bother.” He’d rather die of thirst and starvation in a desert than never see her chew her bottom lip again. “My apologies.”

“I’ll speak with the girls, about mentioning their appetites. Just in case. I’m not aware of any such rule, myself.” She shook her head. “I’m going to need more books. Maybe Lady Hemsworth’s Guide.”

“What is Lady Hemsworth’s Guide?”

Sarah waved the question away. “I don’t wish to discuss etiquette books, actually. I have other conversational topics in mind.”

He’d feared she would. If she determined to be direct, a quality he admired in her, his plans of distraction and evasion would come to nothing.

“After we eat with the children, we can—”

“No. Sooner. Now.”

Another direct request. Damnit. Very well. He’d see what she had to say, then regroup accordingly.

“Speak, then, Lady Eaden.” The formal title would, at least superficially, keep her at a distance.

“In a moment.” She wound them through the gardens and to the wide double doors that entered into his study.

“I thought you wanted a stroll through the gardens.”

“I wished for privacy. If we enter through here”—she pushed open the doors, pulled him in, and shut them again—“we are alone.”

Alone. The very worst place to be with Sarah Cavendish, Lady Eaden. His wife.

She smiled shyly at him. “We passed no servants or children. There should be no interruptions.”

His pulse skittered under his skin. Damnation! This was the worst possible outcome. It was what distraction and evasion were supposed to help him avoid. He knew exactly how much control he had around his new wife.

Not nearly enough.

He stalked across the room and took a seat behind his desk. Putting a large, wooden box between them would help.

Sarah loped after him, her fingers trailing over tables, chairs, and books, her eyes alive with thoughts. She didn’t eventually come to stand in front of him, the desk between them. No, she strolled around the desk and took a seat on the chair’s sturdy arm.

Her breasts were directly in his line of sight, her hips within reach of his twitching fingers. He curled those fingers into fists. He’d sit on them if he had to, to keep from touching her as he longed to do. “Well?”

She looked down at him, her face solemn and serious. She reached out with one hand and lifted a lock of hair from his temple.

Henry stayed rigid, waiting.

“Henry, I want to thank you.”

“What for?”

“You’ve done all I asked of you, and I think it’s helped.”

What had she asked him to do? He could think of nothing but her warm body so near his. “What’s helped?” he managed to say. He couldn’t bloody well concentrate with the fog of lust rolling through him.

“Spending time with the children while you’re here, as I asked. It’s helped. They are happier than when we arrived.”

That cut through the fog. Were they happier? He hoped so. In many ways, Henry certainly felt happier than he had in years. “Your presence here has made them happy, not mine.”

She stroked his hair again. “No, I think not. I think it’s your presence that’s calmed them.”

“Calm? Hmph. They’re about as calm as a herd of antelope running from a lion.”

Sarah laughed, a hearty, full sound that filled Henry’s heart. “Your daughters are remarkable, I hope you know.”

He knew.

“Your nephews are imps, and I adore them. You’ve given me the kind of warm, happy, home I always thought was a fairy tale.”

Good. She deserved it all.

“But …”

He’d been waiting for the but. There was bound to be one. “But what, Sarah? Spit it out. Let’s be direct with one another. We always have been, and there’s no need to change that now.”

“But the reality of this marriage has not lived up, entirely, to our initial bargain. The agreement we came to. The promises you made.”

Ah. Of course, the but would be about this.

She cleared her throat. “Let’s revisit it, shall we?”

“I don’t see why we should.”

“Humor me. You were to receive a mother for your children.”

“Correct.”

“And in return, I was to receive a stable home and financial future for myself and my son.”

“Correct. The deal has been met quite satisfactorily.” It hadn’t been, of course.

“It hasn’t been, Henry, and you know it. Remember, we are being direct with one another.”

“Then say what you wish to say, Sarah.”

“You promised me a passionate bedfellow when my husband was in England.”

He nodded, looked away.

She put a finger to his chin and turned his gaze back to her. “And did you mean some other fellow, because I assumed you meant—”

“No,” he growled. His brain said, Don’t, but his arms didn’t care. They picked Sarah up and deposited her firmly on his lap. His face fell forward until his nose burrowed in her hair. He inhaled deeply. Sun, grass, and books. Intoxicating. “I cannot, Sarah. Zeus, I want to. But I cannot. I will not risk getting you with child.” But his arms clenched more tightly around her, holding, just holding, her safe against him. Having her in his arms felt like a luxury he’d not had often enough; he reveled in it.

Sarah twisted on his lap and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning her head on this chest. This gentle embrace, too, seemed to pacify her. “Is this because of your daughter? Calliope? And your wife?”

Yes. “No.”

Henry’s heart beat frantically beneath her cheek as he waited for her to speak again.

“I understand. But, correct me if I’m wrong—I’m not a man of the world like you—but aren’t there ways to be intimate without conceiving a child? French letters, I believe they’re called?”

Not surprising she knew of them. And he’d thought of that already. “They’re not entirely foolproof, Sarah.”

“Hmmm.” The small sound vibrated down his ribs and lower. “I remember feeling rather nice before consummation. Can’t we … play without ever resorting to the ultimate act?”

Zeus, yes. But, no. It would never be enough. “If we did, I’m not sure I’d be able to stop.”

She laughed. “You? At a loss for control? I don’t believe you.”

He lifted her chin until her gaze met his. “Don’t you?”

“No. You have more control than any man I’ve ever known. You clearly adore your family, but you stay away, hurting yourself as much as them. You deny yourself what you most want every day of your life.”

“And what do I most want, Lady Eaden?”

“To love your family. To live with them.”

He snorted and pressed her cheek back to his chest. “You have it all wrong, Sarah. I want only to leave, to seek adventure. To know more of the world.” He wrapped his arms tightly about her. “I can’t be chained to a single place. The world is my home.”

She nodded, rubbing his chest through the fine lawn of his shirt. Damn, he should have armed himself with an arsenal of clothes before agreeing to this talk “You have everyone convinced that’s true,” she said. “It’s all that masterful control, you know.”

“Around you, Sarah, I have no more control than a wild animal.” Then, like the beast he claimed to be, he pounced, dragging her head off his chest, bringing her lips closer for a starved taste.

She tasted like strawberries. She smelled like summer.

She pulled away, but he surged after her. “Henry,” she gasped, “let me finish my argument.”

“There’s more?”

“Of course! You can—oooooh, Henry. No, stop.” She panted, pulled away again. “Henry, please.”

“Please what? Pleasure you? That was the desired outcome to this conversation, was it not?”

“No! I mean, yes. Yes, of course.” She pulled away again, placing her hand on his chest to keep him at bay.

Tiny hand. Delicate. He stayed at bay only because that hand asked him to. “Your other arguments, then—what are they?” He trailed his hand up her ribs and cupped her breast.

Her head dropped back on her neck. “I forget,” she sighed. Her head popped back up. She closed her eyes, took a steadying breath, then opened them again to pin him with a serious stare. “It’s only, surely you’ve considered my current arguments before now. About there being other ways to play. Less risky ways.”

He should have considered them. But he’d been so consumed with staying away from her, evading and distracting, that he hadn’t put any thought into getting around his self-imposed restrictions. “I’m a bloody fool. Have you not figured that out yet, Sarah-mine?”

She laughed, short and harsh, disbelieving. She reached up to trace her fingers around the perimeter of his face.

Henry clasped her body to his and stood, striding around the desk and finding the nearby settee in four steps. He lowered her and stood to survey her form. Loosed from her coiffure, her curls tumbled everywhere. Warm eyes above sultry lips curved upward in a satisfied, anticipatory smile. He lowered his body over hers. Sinking closer to her felt like coming home.

“Henry,” she gasped as he teased her earlobe with his teeth, “finally.”

He knew exactly how she felt.

Her hips pressed into his, and he grabbed her arms, wove their fingers together, and pinned her hands above her head. He surveyed his catch—sweetly rounded, sun-kissed flesh rose breath by breath above her bodice. “I like your new gown.” He dipped his head and licked the skin right above the trim of her bodice. “You look good enough to eat.” Ah. A capital idea, a way to satisfy their original marriage bargain without risking a child and all the dangers therein. He kissed her on the lips, slipping his tongue into her mouth on her small gasp. With his free hand, he found the hem of her skirt and raised it.

“Henry, what’s that?”

Henry chuckled. “You don’t remember? It’s only been eight days. That, Sarah-mine, is me.”

“No, not that. Let me up.” She wiggled her arms in the shackle hold of his hands. “The voices. Do you not hear them?”

Henry released her arms, letting the skirt drop back to the floor. “I hear no—” No, he did hear it now. Voices, raised, angry, getting closer. “What the hell is happening?” He jumped to his feet and strode to the door. “Stay put,” he ordered before leaving the room.

The voices grew louder in the hallway, and he could tell where they were coming from (the breakfast room) and who one of them belonged to (Ada). The second voice rang deep and cultured, male, and vaguely familiar.

“Damn.” The male voice had better not belong to who Henry thought it belonged to.