Merrick wished he’d never mentioned Beatrice. It was as if a bucket of cold water had been tossed over his head…or almost, for Constance still rested on his lap. “That could simply be a sign she’s getting older, or has learned how to behave more like a lady and less like a giggly little girl. She is old enough to be married, Constance.”
“I’m well aware of that. I just hope she’s not hiding something serious from me while she’s in our care.”
Merrick hated to see Constance worry. He kissed her furrowed brow, as he would kiss away all her troubles if he could. “I know that you love her, and fear for her. But let me say again, you have no reason not to trust Henry.”
“I never said a word about Henry.”
“You didn’t have to. I’ve seen the way you watch him whenever he’s talking to Beatrice, but I assure you, he’d never attempt to seduce a young woman in my family or under my protection.”
“I’m trying to be less suspicious.” She hesitated and he wondered what else was bothering her, until she spoke. “Is it true he has a mistress in London?”
God’s blood, how had she…? “Who told you that?”
“Beatrice.”
“How did she hear it?”
“She guessed from things Henry’s said in conversation.”
Henry should learn to keep his mouth shut, especially when in the company of so inquisitive a young lady. “He’s never actually told me that he has,” Merrick admitted, “which is not to say he doesn’t.”
“Wouldn’t he confide in you?”
“All men have secrets, even the best of friends,” he replied.
But this conversation was veering in a dangerous direction, so he sought to turn it elsewhere. “For instance, I would never tell Henry you came to my solar today and most brazenly seduced me away from my duties,” he said as his hand meandered toward her breasts and he again pressed his lips to the bare skin of her neck, hoping to distract her.
“I’m relieved.”
She was annoyed.
He stopped kissing her and regarded her warily. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
She was a woman and a newly wedded wife. They had just been discussing another man’s illicit liaisons. It didn’t take a seer to figure out what was upsetting her. “I don’t have a mistress, Constance, and never have,” he said truthfully. “No other woman has ever held my heart.”
She smiled happily, then with seductive intent as she wiggled suggestively on his lap. “You accused me of attempting to brazenly seduce you, my lord, but I must point out, we’re married,” she purred as she ran her hands up his broad chest. “I don’t think we can call it seduction, then…do you?”
“Whatever we’re doing, it’ll be our secret,” he murmured as his breathing quickened and his shaft eagerly responded to her words, her tone and the movement of her warm body against his.
His hand glided along her arm, then upward to her breast. She shifted, and the friction of her body against his hardened shaft made her whimper and shift again, while he continued to gently knead her breast and explore her mouth with his tongue.
She broke the kiss and he groaned like one severely wounded. “What’s wrong?” he gasped.
“We had best cease for now, my lord,” she said as she ran her finger over the plane of his cheek and down to his jaw. “This is not the place for what I have in mind.”
He could think of no better place for what he had in mind. Well, for what he had in mind, almost anywhere would do, as long as they were alone.
“The table is large and strong, and not liable to break,” he offered, his voice husky with yearning. “Or we could stay in this chair,” he suggested, caressing her.
“Really?” she whispered as the excitement took her. “It seems a sin….”
“I recall, my lady, that we’ve sinned before.”
“So we have,” she agreed, her eyes shining with anticipation. She ran her tongue lightly over her lips as if in silent invitation—and he needed no other.
He set her on her feet and, with one swift motion, swept the parchments from the table. Holding her around her waist, he pressed kisses to her lips and cheeks, guiding her backward.
