Ellie had loved Henry from the moment he cut her out of her bodice and helped her into a carriage, his feet slipping in his vomit-covered loafers. She loved him when he fed her brandy until the ceiling spun and loved him when he was willing to whisk her across the globe to fulfill a dream. She even loved him when he tried to set her up with another man, and when he ignored her for months on end, even when she married the dreadful Ashby. Ellie would never stop loving him.
If only Henry loved her in return.
“El, would you ever consider marrying again?”
She barked out a laugh. “No,” she exclaimed. “Never.”
Henry rolled on his side. “Why not?”
A cold chill took root, pushing out the warmth. “Marriage was not what I had expected. And widowhood gives me the freedom I desire, one I’d never have if I were wed.”
Henry’s brows furrowed. “Marriage to the right person could be wonderful. Look at my mother and father, how much they love each other.”
“And look at mine,” she retorted. “My father ignores the fact my mother even exists. They despise each other. Ashby barely tolerated me, and I couldn’t stand the man. His death was a gift.” Ellie winced. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Henry’s hand slipped out and took hers, their fingers lacing together. “What happened between you?”
Ellie bit the inside of her lip. “He wanted an heir, not a marriage,” she said, the words emotionless. “When I failed to provide that, he… expressed his displeasure.”
“El.” Henry rolled onto his side. “What did he do?”
“He didn’t hit me,” she said, not a lie, but not the whole truth. She couldn’t tell him about the insults, the cruel words he threw her way. The way he denied her friendships, even nourishment when he thought her size caused their lack of offspring. She did not need to revisit the horror.
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
An unwelcome anger bit at her throat. “You weren’t there, Henry.”
He flinched, and guilt stabbed at her gut. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I could have written you. I should have. I’m sorry, El.”
Ellie stared at the ceiling, the crack moving in and out of focus as she felt herself losing the battle to sleep. “I forgive you.” As her eyes dropped, she managed her last words. “I won’t marry again. You can count on that.”
Chapter 11
Thatwasamistake.
The thought raced through Henry’s foggy brain, accompanied by a searing pain that made him regret the decision to open his eyes.
He was accustomed to the aftereffects of a night of imbibing, but it had been a year since he had consumed more than a single drink. Keeping his eyes shut, he made a mental inventory of his current status to ascertain just how much damage control would be required.
He was in a bed and wearing clothing. Both were generally reassuring things; perhaps last night was not the debacle he typically enjoyed. He shifted his body to the left and right, but was immediately impeded by a mass to his side. Or, more accurately,pressedagainst his side. And warm. And breathing.
Henry’s eyes shot open, and he restrained a curse as pain cleaved his brain. Looking down, his breath hitched. Ellie had tucked herself neatly against him, her hair wild over his chest and shoulder, one hand pressed against his chest. Her breasts and hips were flush against him and her leg was thrown over his thigh, her calf now resting between his knees.
A wave of horror washed over him, studded with fragmented memories. He remembered the limoncello, the conversation in bed… Aboutmarriage? Had he taken advantage of her while they were intoxicated? But no; both were still fully dressed, except for shoes and stockings, though Ellie’s skirt had ridden up well above her knee.
Awareness flooded through him. With each breath, Ellie’s full chest pressed into his, the pressure of her bare thigh heating his leg through the thin fabric of his trousers. He took a deep breath and exhaled through his teeth to release the burgeoning arousal at the sight of her sleeping profile, her rose-colored lips slightly parted, ruddy eyelashes tipped with gold fanned against her milky cheek.
He had to get out from under her. Ellie would be horrified to awake and find him pressed against her with a growing erection. Shifting his hips away, he prepared to ease out from under her body. Unconscious Ellie, however, protested his move by gripping onto his shirt, pressing her hips even tighter against his side until her nearly bare core pressed against him.
Don’t. Move.Now he was in it. Henry must be a gentleman, must extract himself before—
She moaned. A low, husky sound in her throat, accompanied by a press of her hand against his chest and a slight roll of her hips. Heat shot to Henry’s groin, and he suppressed a moan. He pursed his lips tight and took a full breath through his nose, praying his body would ignore what was happening right next to him—
She moanedagain. This time louder, her lips dropping open and her head falling back a bit, exposing the smooth skin of her neck. Her palm stroked against his chest before gripping the fabric again, and her hips rocked as though seeking the friction of his leg.
This was too much. A monk couldn’t withstand this. To watch her in the throes of a passionate dreamworld encounter without being able to respond was a unique form of torture. His mind raced; what was she dreaming about? What would satisfy her needs? Was she dreaming of a specific gentleman bringing her pleasure?
The thought made his stomach roil. Was some other man the subject of her fantasies? The possessive heat racing through him only made his cock harder.
