Page 122 of The Language of Love

Annis was already in bed—and had been for several hours—and was wondering if Henry would join her when the connecting door opened and he entered her room, still wearing his dinner clothes.

He looked… tense.

Annis put aside her book as he strode toward her bed. “Henry? Is ought—”

He slid his arms around her, his broad palm cradling her head as he lowered his mouth and claimed her in an open-mouthed, urgent kiss.

Annis melted into his embrace and carded her fingers into his hair, her body pliant against his.

He groaned as she tugged his hair in the rough way she’d learned he liked. She was dizzy and breathless when he pulled away.

“Open my fall and take me out,” he ordered gruffly.

Annis’s hands fumbled to obey. His thick shaft was thrusting against the fine material of his evening breeches and sprang free when she opened the last button.

He raised her nightgown up to her hips and lifted her off the bed with disconcerting ease, cupping her bottom with both hands as he lined himself up with her entrance and then entered her with a savage thrust.

Annis cried out in a mixture of pleasure and surprise, her legs hooking over his narrow hips.

His arms were like iron bands as he raised and lowered her body to meet his driving thrusts, each stroke deep and hard. It couldn’t have been more than a minute or two before he gave a hoarse shout, hilted himself, and spent deep inside her.

It was the first time that Henry had ever taken her without seeing to Annis’s pleasure first. He’d seemed almost crazed in his need. While she enjoyed his passion—even without climaxing—his behavior caused uneasiness to coil in her stomach.

He held her tightly and she couldn’t see his face, but she could feel when his arms slackened and he came back from the fugue of pleasure.

As quickly as he’d taken her, he set her on the bed, staring down at her as if he didn’t know who she was. His skin was flushed and slicked with sweat from the effort of the past few minutes. His glistening shaft stood upright, a shockingly carnal sight when contrasted with the civilized elegance of his evening clothes.

“Henry?” She reached out to him, but he took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, giving his head a slight shake. “That was—”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his hands absently closing the elegant satin breeches he’d worn for the first time in her presence. Usually he wore pantaloons, even to most formal events. But tonight, he’d looked every inch the aristocrat he was.

“No, of course you didn’t,” she said. “But what is wrong?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, shoving a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristically weary gesture. His dark eyes flickered around the room before settling on her, a tired smile curving his lips. “I’m sorry for being a selfish lover.”

She made an exasperated noise. “I think I can survive one night without the surfeit of pleasure you usually give. What is the matter?”

His sudden grin startled her. “I don’t want you to just survive, my lady. I want you to be a slave to my body.”

Annis rolled her eyes. “You have already achieved that objective. But why do I suspect that telling me what is bothering you will not be something you will do for me?”

“I don’t have specific words for what is bothering me,” he said, pacing restlessly about her room and studying the appointments in a vague sort of way.

“Where did you go after dinner? I waited for you, but you didn’t come to the library after you and Edmund had port.”

“I’m sorry, darling—that was rude. I didn’t have port with Edmund; I left him to it.” He snorted. “Although judging by all the red lines on his cheeks and nose, that wasn’t the first time he’d indulged today. I won’t leave you alone with them—or her—again.”

“It was fine, Henry. Julia told me a bit about the house, the servants, and the local gentry.” She smiled. “She has been planning a party for us—a combination welcome home party for you and a wedding celebration.”

“Has she? Well, don’t let her do anything you don’t wish, Annis.”

“She has been most kind, Henry. Why don’t—”

He raised a hand, and she stopped speaking from sheer surprise. “I would rather we never speak of Julia. Especially not in either of our bedchambers.”