Chapter 30
London
The scent of beeswax polish and old stone filled the church, mingling with the delicate perfume of the bouquets clutched by her bridesmaids as they made their way inside. Charlotte clung lightly to William’s arm, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird.
“You’re shaking,” William murmured in her ear.
“I’m not,” she lied, clutching her bouquet a little tighter.
He leaned in, a rare softness in his voice. “You’re sure, then? Last chance to make a run for it.”
Charlotte laughed, the sound barely audible beneath the organ’s swell. “Very sure,” she whispered back. “Now hush, or I’ll trip just to spite you.”
Felicity and Miranda moved gracefully ahead of her down the aisle, pale gowns catching the light, their matching smiles steady and composed. Charlotte followed, and suddenly hundreds of eyes were on her. She kept her chin up, but the weight of all that expectation pressed heavily against her chest.
Until she saw him.
Henry stood at the end of the aisle, tall and impossibly handsome in his dark coat, his expression unreadable to anyone but her. But she saw it—the flicker of awe, the softness, the way his breath caught as she stepped closer. The world around her blurred into silence. There was only him.
As they approached, she noticed a man seated inconspicuously in the back pew, hair touched with silver and posture a little too upright for a disinterested guest.
Henry’s father.
He gave her a small, respectful smile, and she returned it. He and Henry had been getting to know each other over the past few weeks, and Charlotte had been included in that. Elias was a good man, and his face as he watched her and his son glowed with pride.
The dowager duchess had taken a while to come to terms both with the fact he was alive and with the prospect of having him in their lives.
Apparently, the late duke had never told her about the money he had given Elias and had informed her some months after Henry’s birth that Elias had perished in the course of his new career at sea.
Fortunately, she seemed to be warming to him. Charlotte suspected that shock and embarrassment had made her cold toward him in the beginning but that might change with time.
William stopped just short of the altar and looked down at her, all mischief gone from his face. “You’re certain,” he said again, very quietly.
“I am,” she replied.
He let out a breath, then took her hand and placed it in Henry’s. His fingers closed around hers, steady and warm.
“You look like a dream,” Henry murmured. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, breathless.
The ceremony passed in a blur. Vows exchanged. Rings slipped into place. Her heart, she was certain, had never beat so loudly.
When they emerged into the sunlight outside, the cheers of the crowd seemed far away. Henry bent his head toward her, his lips brushing her ear.
“You’re mine now, Duchess of Arundel.”
“And you’re mine,” she said, unable to stop the smile from overtaking her face.
They took a carriage to her family’s home for the wedding breakfast, which was a blur of toasts, laughter, and far too many speeches.
Charlotte nodded and tried to be gracious, but her mind was elsewhere—on the promise of privacy, of quiet, of being alone with her husband. She was excited but nervous.
What if she did something wrong?
She knew the bare bones of what happened between a man and woman on their wedding night, but that was all. And none of her friends were married, so she couldn’t ask for their help.
No, she realized, she would be the one they would come to for advice.
At last, the carriage rolled them away from her former home and toward Henry’s London townhouse. As the streets passed by in a haze, her hand stayed firmly clasped in his the whole time.
When they arrived, the staff stood lined up, all tidy smiles and welcoming bows. Charlotte did her best to seem composed, offering kind words and polite thank-yous. Henry made quick introductions, his arm a firm, reassuring weight around her waist.
As soon as the last of the formalities was seen to, he swept her up into his arms without preamble.
“Henry!” she gasped, half laughing, half scandalized.
“Tradition,” he said with a grin. “Don’t tell me you expect me to let you walk upstairs on your wedding night.”
She looped her arms around his neck, heart thudding wildly. “Only if you promise not to drop me.”
“I would never,” he murmured, voice suddenly low and serious. “Never, Charlotte.”
He carried her through the threshold of their room and set her down gently. The curtains were already drawn. It all felt surreal.
He touched her face, thumb brushing the curve of her cheek. “I love you,” he said simply.
“I know,” she whispered. “I love you too.”
She trembled, both nervous and desirous as he pulled her toward him and started to kiss her gently. Her lips parted of their own accord, and she let out a small gasp as his tongue probed hers and his hands slid around the back of her dress, untying the laces of her bodice.
“Turn around,” he said, his voice sounding rougher than usual, his eyes dark with desire.
Charlotte did as she was bid, her chest fluttering as she felt him deftly loosen her dress, and then it fell to her feet leaving her in her shift.
She turned around to face him, stepping out of the mass of lace and silk to stand in front of him.
Her nipples strained against the thin cotton of her shift, and she fought the impulse to cover them with her hands.
Henry’s eyes travelled over the silhouette of her body, and his breath sounded ragged in his throat.
“You’re so beautiful, Charlotte.”
He reached for her hair then, pulling out the pins so that the weight of it fell around her shoulders and into his hands. He ran his fingers through it slowly, then suddenly groaned and pulled her to him, nuzzling her neck and collarbone.
“God, my love, I need you.” He sighed against her neck, nibbling the soft skin at the hollow of her throat, and Charlotte gasped as a ripple of desire went through her.
Her gasp became a moan as his lips traced a trail down to the tops of her breasts, pushing her shift down over her shoulders and arms as he did so.
By the time it reached her waist and he took one of her nipples in his mouth, she had forgotten her nerves. She arched against him, one hand buried in his hair.
“Henry…” She panted, heat pooling between her thighs as his tongue circled her nipple and he cupped her breasts with his hands. A need she had never experienced before curled in the pit of her stomach. Her anxieties were gone.
She wanted him. All of him.
Yet she wasn’t prepared for him lowering himself onto his knees as he kissed down her stomach. As he reached her sex, she shuddered, and his face flushed as he brought his mouth to her, his tongue flicking over the secret nub between her thighs.
She pressed her hand to her mouth as her sense of propriety warred with the gnawing need; part of her wanted him to stop, the other—much louder—wanted him never to stop.
Waves of sensation coursed through her body as he continued to taste her, slipping a finger gently inside her. There was a slight resistance, and then her body accepted him. She balled her fingers in his hair, feeling her thighs tremble and heat travel through her body as she gasped his name.
Then he got to his feet and began to quickly discard his clothes, pulling at his collar with impatience. With one hand he took one of hers and laid it on the laces of his breeches. Charlotte bit her lip, her nerves returning.
“I… I don’t know what to do,” she whispered even as she helped relieve him of his breeches while he stripped off his shirt, revealing a muscular chest and taut, hard stomach.
He had broad shoulders and rippling biceps and a smattering of dark hair across his chest, and at the sight of him, she bit her lip again, drinking him in.
He was hers. Her husband.
Henry guided her hand inside his breeches, wrapping her hand around him.
The skin of the shaft was warm and velvety soft against her palm, but it felt both firm and long in her hand, and she had a moment of apprehension at the thought of fitting his length inside her.
She squeezed, experimenting with moving her hand along him, and he responded with a deep groan.
“Did I do something wrong?” She stopped moving, worried she’d hurt him.
He shook his head, his eyes closed and his head thrown back. “No, Charlotte,” he said in that ragged voice. “No, that’s perfect. I love your touch.”
Her insides warmed at that, and she continued to touch him, exploring the feel of him until he groaned again and grabbed her wrist. “Stop, or I’ll be finished before I can even get inside you.”
“Is that bad?”
He opened his eyes, smiling at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “No, my love, it’s very, very good.”
In one swoop he picked her up and laid her on the bed, then knelt again between her thighs.
As he lowered his mouth to her again, Charlotte felt the urgency of her need take over.
She widened her legs further, pressing her hips into him as he gripped the soft flesh of her thighs.
She moaned as he paused and then ran his tongue over her again, butterfly light, teasing her until she whimpered with need.
She rocked against his mouth, gasping as he slipped a finger inside her again, she clenched around him in response, her insides tightening with pleasure as he began to move it inside her, making a fluttering motion that made her gasp in delight.
Her whole body was one exposed nerve ending, raw and aching.
Then Henry raised his head to look up at her.
“I want to see you climax for me, Charlotte,” he said in a deep, rough voice, his eyes so darkened with desire, they were almost black. He kissed the skin where her thighs met her body. “I love the taste and smell of you,” he murmured. “I love knowing you’re mine. My wife.”
Charlotte ran a hand through his hair as he put his mouth upon her once more, and she tipped her head back, surrendering herself to the moment as he again started to tease her with his tongue.
She whimpered with longing and gripped his hair, writhing against him. Henry pushed his fingers deeper inside, increasing his rhythm and pace until she could feel waves of pleasure building within her, every inch of her skin on fire with longing, any capacity for coherent thought beyond her.
Then her ecstasy hit, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over her, flooding her body with sensation from head to toe. She heard herself cry out as though from a long way away and then felt a rush of wetness between her thighs.
“Henry,” she gasped, her tone urgent, tugging him toward her. With a wicked smile he climbed up between her legs, positioning himself over her on the bed. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips as he looked down at her, his eyes suddenly soft.
“Are you ready, my love?” he asked softly.
As if there could possibly be any doubt.
“Yes,” she whispered, and he began to gently push himself inside her. There was another sharp sting, but it was over as quickly as it appeared, to be replaced only with an aching need to have him fully inside her. She arched her back, pulling him into her.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He ran a hand through her hair. It looked as though it was taking all of his self-control to hold back, and it gave her a throb of pleasure to see the effect she had on him.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she protested, bucking her hips wantonly toward him, but he slid himself inside her impossibly slowly until she felt filled by him, stretched by him.
Only when she had gotten used to the sensation and her body was relaxed around him did he start to move inside her, his breath hot against her neck.
Charlotte gripped his firm backside, feeling his muscles contract as he moved inside her. She tipped her head back as he squeezed the nape of her neck and nibbled at her throat again.
“Charlotte,” he groaned, and his movements quickened and deepened, his back slicked with sweat. His whole body tensed as he thrust deeply inside her and he shuddered as his own climax came. He moaned her name over and over.
Then he exhaled, long and low, before laying his head next to hers on the pillow, shuddering as his pleasure subsided. Then he rolled off her, leaving her bereft for a moment until he pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. Her limbs were warm and heavy, and she was utterly content.
“You’re trembling,” he said softly.
“So are you,” she replied, smiling into his chest. “That was amazing.”
“This is only the beginning,” he whispered, kissing her again. “I hope you’re ready for forever.”