Page 88 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

When Henry rolled her onto her back and shuffled down, kissing her between her thighs, it wasn’t about teasing her. He didn’t want to bring her to the edge and deny her. Rather, he worked for her pleasure, relishing how much she enjoyed it, taking his own joy when he felt her explode from his lips and tongue alone.

When she rolled onto her knees and pulled him to the edge of the bed, she didn’t tease and taunt him. She didn’t make him beg for it or whisper dirty words as a means to elicit anger. She looked him in the eye instead, one hand wrapped around his shaft, letting him see her love as she stroked up and down, drool running from her mouth and coating him. He almost demanded that she do it but held his tongue. He knew she would.

This time, the feel of him inside her mouth was beyond anything he’d had experienced before. The sense that she was enjoying it, not because he commanded it or was trying to punish her, but because she wanted to give him pleasure, because that to her was the most wonderful thing. Her lips, her tongue running up and down his length, making him shake and moan and fall on his back as he stared at the ceiling, barely able to hold on because she knew his body well, and if he let her, if he didn’t stop, there was no doubt that she would finish him right then and there.

That was never going to be the case though. Henry needed to be inside his wife. He needed to feel her wrapped around him. He didn’t want to tie her down or blindfold her or spank and choke her. All he desired was her pleasure.

On her back, Charlotte held Henry’s eyes, not so much as blinking as he mounted and then entered her. And they held eye contact, kissing also but mostly staring into one another’s soul as he thrust slowly and deeply. Moving to her breathing. Bringing her closer and closer to the edge the faster he moved.

“Yes…” she moaned deeply. “Just like that…”

“Like this…” he whispered in her ear. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes… like… oh…” It was all she could say.

He felt her body begin to shake. He felt her thighs quiver. Her hips stiffened and convulsed. Her body began to shudder. He could feel it coming, and again, he felt no desire to stop and tease her.

Instead of that, just as she was about to explode, he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I love you.”

And as she came for him, as he held her tight and close, worshiping the feel of her wrapped around him, somehow, she managed to stammer out, “I love you.” And he believed her.

When they were finished, it was again different from how it had been. There was no teasing. No mocking. No shame or wondering if things had gone too far. Rather, Henry shuffled to the head of the bed and held out an arm for Charlotte to curl up in. She accepted without a word, nuzzling her head into his chest and wrapping her other arm around him. He kissed her on the forehead, she kissed his chest, and they simply lay there together.

No words were spoken because there was nothing that needed to be said. In all his life, Henry realized at that moment that he’d never felt so comfortable, so complete, so content with where he was that he could have stayed there forever and died a happy man.

Is that what love was? He had no idea. But he did know one thing, and that was that he should have done this a long time ago.

It was lucky then that he had the rest of his life to do just that. And from the way Charlotte felt in his arms, he knew she was of the same mind.

Epilogue

SIX MONTHS LATER

“I’m sure she won’t mind. She won’t even know you are there.”

“I’m not missing it!” Charlotte shouted from the washroom, her head bent over the basin as she vomited up last night’s supper. “I’m not!”

“You will see her on the morrow,” Henry reminded her, standing back and out of the washroom, as he had been ordered to do. “She’ll understand.”

“If you think that I am not—” Charlotte felt it coming. That sickening sensation swirling about in her stomach, writhing and twisting as it tried to escape. On her knees, holding the basin with both her hands, she took a deep breath and opened her mouth just in time to release another torrent of bile and half-digested food and only the Lord knew what else.

“Are you all right?”

“What do you think?!”

In response to that, she heard Henry chuckle to himself. Softly, though. Quiet enough so that she might not be able to hear—if he laughed too loudly, she would be at him as she had been yesterday when this had first started. It had come out of nowhere. One minute she was lying in bed, enjoying a late morning because it was the middle of winter, and she saw no reason to get out of bed, and the next… well, it was just lucky that she made it to the washroom in time.

Charlotte had assumed she was ill. What else could it have been? Only, once she was finished being sick, the illness that had taken her was gone, and she was fine for the rest of the day. Very strange…

“I’ll be fine in a moment!” she shouted over her shoulder, still holding onto the basin, readying for the next onslaught. “You’ll see!”

“I just don’t think you should risk it.” Henry sighed, stepping into the room but still keeping his distance. “You have clearly caught something.”

“That’s what you said yesterday.”

“And here you are,” he pointed out. “Head buried in the basin as if it’s trying to swallow you whole.”

“I know Beatrice well enough to know that she will need me tonight. I am going, and that is final.” She looked over her shoulder and glared at Henry. In response, he grimaced, because the sight of her must have been a horror. Pale skin. Bags under her eyes.

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