Page 87 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

He saw her body go stiff, as if she was forcing herself not to turn back. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want me to come back?”

“Because… because you are my wife? I miss you.”

“And I told you.” She turned around, and he gasped. Her eyes were red, bloodshot from the tears that were now falling down her face. Big, wet tears down swollen cheeks. He wanted to go to her, to wrap her in his arms. “That is not enough.”

“What do you want to hear?” Henry said desperately. “That these last two weeks have been the worst of my life? That I’ve been lost without you? That every day I wake up depressed because you’re not lying beside me? That I wander from room to room not knowing what to do, wishing I hadn’t made the biggest mistake of my life?”

Her sadness turned into anger, and she glared at him. “You know what I want to hear—why can’t you say it?”

He sucked through his teeth. No longer stung by her pain but angry! Then again… wasn’t that always their way?

“You really are stubborn, you know that?”

“Look who is talking!”

His mouth twitched. “I thought you didn’t want to fight anymore?”

She scoffed. “I didn’t. But it’s the only way to get you to open up, so it looks like I have no choice.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.” And that was the truth, one he didn’t even realize until he spoke the words. “I don’t.”

“Then what do you want?!”

“You!” he shouted at her. “I want you! Is that not obvious? What more do I have to say?!”

She glared daggers at him, jaw clenched, hands clenched into fists. “You know what you have to say.” A raised eyebrow, as if daring him.

And Henry? At that moment, their entire relationship seemed to flash before his eyes. Strangely, the memories that came to him weren’t the times they fought, or their times in bed together. They weren’t the exciting moments at dinner parties. They were the quiet moments, waking up in bed next to one another, spotting her across the garden reading as she smiled at whatever she had read, a sharp rebuke because of a stupid comment he made, an argument they had at dinner over a glass of wine. The boring, pedestrian, simple moments that made up most of their relationship. That Henry was just now realizing he missed the most.

“You want me to say it?” he asked, exhaling as his shoulders dropped and his tense posture relaxed. His expression, too, was no longer hard or determined but open in a way she seemed to understand.

“I do…” She stopped glaring. She unclenched her hands. She looked at him with hope because she knew what he was about to say.

“The truth is…” He half-smiled. “And only you could ever get me to admit this, Charlotte. But the truth is that I love you. I tried to fight it. I tried to ignore it. I tried… I tried to pretend that it was anything else. But dammit if you aren’t so stubborn that now I have no choice but to admit it. I love you so much that if you think you’re going to Spain, I might have to tie you down so that you can’t?—”

She threw herself at him. Arms wrapping around his neck. Body pulled into his. Lips meeting his own, prying them open as her tongue darted into his mouth. And Henry accepted it. All of it. Unexpected but welcome, his hands moved to her waist and held her as if he might never let her go because he knew at that moment that he would never do so again.

Soon, the door was closed behind them. Even sooner, they found themselves on Charlotte’s old bed. Henry, blood surging, reacted in the way that both had become accustomed to. As she smothered his face and lips with kisses, his hands moved, one to the back of her head to grab her hair, the other to her throat?—

“Wait.” Charlotte pulled back.

“Wh—” Henry leaned forward as if to follow her lips. “What’s wrong?”

“Not like that,” she said softly as he looked into his eyes. It was a look he both recognized and didn’t at the same time. The desire. The passion. But tenderness also. It wasn’t the regular fire that brewed between them. It wasn’t the lust that he’d come to know. There was still want there… only a different type. “Not this time.”

Henry didn’t have to ask what she meant, for he knew.

A smile for her, and he leaned in and kissed her gently. Still with passion but not as if he was trying to own her and make her his. She already was.

On his back, Charlotte straddled him and kissed him fully. Her hands moved all over him, no idea what she wanted to do with them but clearly wanted every inch at the same time. He moved to tear her dress open but resisted the urge, instead lifting it up over her head. And when she undid his shirt, it wasn’t with one giant rip that tore the buttons off. She was gentle, kissing down his body as she slowly undid each button, one by one.

They were slow and tender with each other. Loving in a way that hadn’t been possible until now. His hands stroked down her body, gripping her tightly but not roughly. Between her thighs, he stroked her with his fingers, feeling how wet she was and delighting in the way her body quivered with each stroke. Careful and delicate yet firm, he knew what she liked, how to make her shake and moan and want him.

And Charlotte. Her hands undid his pants with precision. He raised his hips, and she helped him take them off until they were both naked. This wasn’t about dominating or taking control. It was the two of them, melting into one another, becoming one as they never had been before.

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