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She smoothed his neckcloth, trying not to tremble. “I dreamed of you too.”
Harry kissed the tip of her nose. “I think I need to make those dreams real,” he said. “Are you ready, Sophy?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
Together they made their way down the wide walk between the white flowers and green foliage. So many memories were here but he refused to let them weigh him down. He caught the way she glanced at him from time to time, and knew what was going through her head. She thought he would change his mind about leaving, or hate her for his decision, but she was wrong and he would show her soon how wrong she was.
As they came back into the house, he discovered the servants were waiting to give him a belated greeting. They seemed to have missed him, which was gratifying. At least someone had.
As they returned to the coach there were several dozen people gathered to see them off. He recognised them all, people he had known his entire life, who had worked his land and looked up to the Baillieus. His father’s poor decisions had become more evident to him as he had been given a little more control over the estate, but there was only so much he could do without full control. Recently he had been the one who made certain their cottages were in good order and they had enough food on their tables. His father might argue that the Christmas celebrations every year were more than enough to keep everyone happy, but it wasn’t true. It wasn’t enough. Now they were showing their gratitude, and he was sorry matters had come to this. He could see they were sorry too.
As they drove away, he took Sophy’s hand in his and brought it to his lips. He could tell she wanted to ask him whether he thought his father would give in, but right now he didn’t want to talk about his father. That would come later. This was their time together, and he meant to make the most of it.
Chapter 32
SOPHY
They were outside the border of Baillieu land. Harry said the house they were in was owned by a friend who was currently in town, and his housekeeper had agreed to open it up and share it with Harry and his new bride.
It wasn’t Pendleton but it was quiet and peaceful, and she was with Harry, and she told herself that was all that mattered.
She was still reeling from the scene in Sir Arbuthnot’s bedroom. She had never seen Harry like that, he had always been deferential with his father, even if he didn’t agree with him, but today he had stood up and demanded to be heard.
He would make a good baron and a good master. He cared about the land and the people who lived on it, and she had seen that they loved him. If Sir Arbuthnot did not value his son and accede to his wishes then he would die a lonely and despised old man.
“You’re deep in thought.”
She smiled at him from her place on the window seat. Harry had come into their bedroom without her noticing. Outside the sky was deepening to gold and crimson, and flocks of birds were making their way home before dark. The journey from London and the meeting at Pendleton had made Sophy sleepy, but seeing Harry standing before her in their bedroom woke her up.
He was barefoot, his breeches hanging low on his slim hips, his shirt open. He had bathed after her, and now his hair was damp and tousled, and she itched to run her fingers through those dark locks. By the way he was looking at her he was thinking the same thing.
“Come here,” he said.
Had Harry always been this masterful? She couldn’t remember, and thought that maybe as he’d grown up that side of him had become more prominent. She liked it, especially when he didn’t wait for her to do as he told her, but came to take her hands in his and bring her to her feet. His arms curled around her, pulling her against him. They fit together as perfectly as ever.
She tilted her head back, aware of his scent and the warm skin just waiting for exploration. His eyes roamed over her face and down to the laces of her robe, the swell of her breasts hidden beneath the silky material.
He leaned in to take her mouth, but he wasn’t being gentle. He wanted her. His tongue smoothed her lips and dove into her mouth, and he cupped her cheeks, slanting her head so that he could kiss her deeply.
Her hands rested on his waist, and she swayed, dizzy with wanting him. Harry lifted his head and she could see the heat of desire in his eyes, matching hers. He undid her ties with a flick of his fingers, and reached beneath the concealing robe, knuckles brushing the plump flesh. Before she could even gasp, his hand closed over her fully, firmly, and his thumb pressed down on her aching nipple.
Her breath caught. “Oh.”
He let his gaze wash over her face again, and then, with a smile, he lowered his head and took her nipple in his mouth.
The sensation was exquisite. Her head fell back and only his hold on her kept her upright.
Her robe slid from her shoulders and now she was dressed only in a thin nightgown. From the flare in his eyes she knew he could see the shape of her body beneath it.
He stroked her breasts again, enjoying the full curves. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “More beautiful than I remember.”
His hands slid down over her sides, finding her trim waist and the swell of her belly, and then he was on his knees, lifting her hem. Sophy felt his warm breath, and then his mouth, between her thighs. She clung to his shoulders, not sure she could stay on her feet, as his tongue dove into her.
His fingers gripped her thighs, and then cupped the globes of her bottom. He was everywhere, touching, licking, kissing. He was a tempest of passion and she stood there and let him devastate her. Pleasure rippled through her belly so hard that she called out his name, suddenly mindless with bliss.
Her nightgown was tugged upwards and then it was gone, the cool air of the bedchamber causing her flesh to prickle. He was kissing her mouth again. She could taste herself and somehow that was even more erotic.
He lifted her and carried her to the bed. Still languid, she lay there and watched as he stripped off his shirt and threw it aside. He reached down and unbuttoned his breeches and she saw the bulge beneath them. Last time
