Page 49 of Dare it all for Love

“Especially at night,” the little wretch admitted, trailing her lips over the line of his jaw. “Alone in my bed, wishing you were with me, touching me….”

Henry, you dog. Wait. Think. You were coming here to stop her from… from… what the hell had he been coming to do? He couldn’t think of anything but the fact she was near to him. Her lips were warm against his cheek, her breath fluttering over his skin, her body pressing closer to his….

“Florence, I’ve written to your father. Until then—”

“He’s not here, Henry. I am, and I need you to kiss me. Just one little kiss. It’s been forever.”

“It was yesterday!”

“Forever and ever…” she murmured, tangling her fingers in his hair, staring at him with such adoration, such need….

“Hell!” Henry gave up. His self-control really was pitiful where this woman was concerned. He took her mouth, overwhelmed by the way she responded at once, opening to him, her desire as blatant as his own, holding nothing back. Her hands moved over him, exploring, enflaming him, and he drew back before things got out of hand. “Florence.”

“Don’t stop.” She tugged his hand, pulling him towards a huge oak tree just off the path, hidden from view.

Florence ducked under the low branches, running to the trunk and leaning against it. She was breathing hard, her eyes alight with anticipation. Henry swallowed. God, she was lovely, and he’d wanted nothing in his whole life like he wanted her, but they must wait until they were married.

“Henry,” she said, her voice low and breathless, full of wanting.

“You would tempt a saint, Miss Knight,” he said, keeping a few feet of distance between them for he felt his sanity fraying at the edges. “I wrote to your father this morning and I mean to get his permission to court you. There will be no anticipating our vows in the meantime. Do you hear me?”

Florence pouted at him. “My, how cross and stern you are Mr Stanhope. Is this the kind of husband you will be?”

Henry’s lips twitched, but he fought to keep his expression serious. “I don’t believe I have actually asked you to marry me yet, Miss Knight. I cannot before I have your father’s permission.”

“Perhaps there is no need, perhaps I don’t wish to marry a man who won’t give me what I want?”

She sent him a coquettish glance from under her lashes, teasing him, the wretch.

“Ah, well. Then perhaps it is just as well we discover this now. I am too serious, too old, and you are too badly behaved, too flighty. A terrible match it would be. Better we forget the whole thing.”

“Oh, Henry!” Florence exclaimed, looking genuinely cross now. “Just come and kiss me, you horrid man.”

Henry laughed and moved towards her, leaning over her, one hand on the tree trunk on either side of her head. He stared down at her, smiling indulgently. “You are a spoilt child.”

“I know, and you adore me anyway,” she retorted. “Now kiss me, please.”

“Just one kiss,” he warned her, or perhaps it was himself he was reminding. It didn’t matter, the moment their lips touched again he was engulfed in heat, in wanting so profound and overwhelming he did not know how to contain it. His kisses burned hotter, devouring her, his hands seeking skin, needing to touch, to possess. Henry could no longer think, driven by instinct, by the primitive need to take what was his. His hands grabbed at her skirts, finding his way beneath what seemed to be dozens of layers until his fingers felt the soft skin of her upper thigh.

Florence gasped against his mouth, and he realised he had surprised her, shocked her even. No. He must keep control, he must not take any more, but her skin was like silk, so warm and he wanted her so much.

“Tell me to stop,” he begged her.

If she said the word, this would be over. She had the power he had let slip from his grasp.

Florence shook her head, staring up at him, her eyes glassy with desire. “Touch me.”

Henry groaned and rested his head against the rough bark of the tree.

“Please,” she pleaded. “Please.”

She was trembling against him, aching with the need for his touch. Well, it would be cruel to leave her like this. Surely, he could give her this much and not go any further. He could. He must.

Henry turned his head into her hair, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her until he felt giddy with it. His fingers stroked up and her breath hitched.

“So soft, so lovely,” he whispered, feeling the shiver that ran over her. “Are you mine, Florence?”

She nodded, her breathing becoming erratic as his fingers skimmed higher, finding the delicate crease between thigh and torso.