Page 31 of The Reckless Love of an Heir (The Marlow Family Secrets #4)

Her head fell back against the stone as he kissed the skin below her ear and then a pathway down her neck.

‘Henry.’

They should not be here. She should not be letting him do this.

He kissed the hollow where her neck turned to her shoulder and his hand came about her and cupped her breast over her gown. He’d taken the speaking of his name as a request for more. It had not been that.

His thumb slid over the material, stroking her nipple.

It swelled and became sensitised and taut?—

‘I know, my lord, I was charmed by it too, I cannot believe…’ A woman’s voice swept along the path.

Henry’s hands fell and he straightened instantly, looking along the path.

‘They are on the other side of the hedge,’ he whispered.

‘Come.’ He grasped her hand and pulled her out of the arbour but did not turn towards the house, he pulled her through a break in the hedge on the right, further into the garden.

She was drawn about the end of another hedge and pushed back against the prickly branches. He still held her hand as his other hand embraced her nape, his thumb reaching to press against her throat.

Henry breathed heavily as his gaze met hers. His thumb lifted and brushed along the line of her jaw. ‘Let me tell Alethea about us.’

‘No. There is nothing to tell. She has grown up thinking you will be hers. She believes it. She has waited for you.’

‘She will be happy with Stourton.’

‘She only speaks to him to make you jealous. Henry, you cannot like me.’

‘I have no choice in it.’

She knew.

The pressure from his thumb against her jaw lifted her chin, angling her lips, and then his covered hers.

Her arms wrapped around his neck. She would never feel like this again – never be happy again – she wished to savour every drop of these last moments, and they would be moments, her parents would notice she had left the ballroom if they stayed here much longer.

His tongue danced with hers and the heel of his hand braced the edge of her breast as his thumb lifted and then stroked her nipple through the cloth. The movement drew all her awareness.

She longed for more. To discover every sensation with him. But there was Alethea to think of.

She broke the kiss, breathing hard. ‘Henry.’

His forehead rested against hers, as his thumb continued to stroke across her nipple.

‘If I could, Susan, I would release the buttons at your back and unlace your corset, and lift your breast to my mouth and suck your nipple. If I could, I would lay you down and do far more.’ His brown eyes burned with desire.

The ache that had been twisting through all her muscles grasped at those between her legs.

‘But we must return to the ballroom,’ he said. ‘Uncle Casper will be looking for you, and I shall restrain myself until we marry. ’

Marry?

No. There was no hope of that. He must know that.

He pressed another kiss on her lips, then pulled away.

Her forehead fell onto his shoulder and she held him tighter, leaning into the crook of his neck. ‘You are promised to Alethea. You cannot marry me.’

His hands braced her waist, holding her between his body and the hedge.

She met his gaze. ‘You have to let me go.’

‘I will tell Alethea now?—’

‘It does not matter.’ Her voice flooded with the pain she did not want him to hear.

‘She and I cannot be?—’

‘I know.’ Her hand lifted and covered his lips, to stop him arguing. His warm breath seeped through her satin glove. ‘And I cannot do this. She is my sister. Do you not see?’

He would have kissed her again, but she turned her head. ‘We are being selfish.’

‘I wish to be selfish in this!’ He was becoming angry.

‘Keep your voice down. If I was in Alethea’s shoes I would not be able to bear it. To watch us together. To know my sister cared so little for me she would do such a disloyal thing. It will hurt her, Henry. I cannot hurt her like that.’

‘She would not sacrifice herself for you.’

He was wrong, she knew. ‘She would.’ But how could Henry understand their bond?

‘And this little tête-à-tête?’ His fingers tightened on her waist.

‘It must be our secret. But I shall remember it and rejoice in it forever.’

He frowned and shook her body, as though the gesture might sway her judgement .

She shook her head, pushed his hands away and walked away.

‘Susan,’ he said as she walked. ‘Susan!’ he called.

She did not look back.

When she reached the open lawn there were couples on the far side, but from what she could see of their movement through her blurred gaze, without her spectacles and with the cloud of tears, none of them seemed to notice her.

She hurried up the steps to the terrace, wiping away the tears that had slipped free.

One of the French doors had been left open.

She passed through it and looked about the room, squinting, to try and see her parents.

It was Alethea’s tall hairstyle that identified them, and then the colour of their clothes.

She walked about the floor, unmindful of those she passed.

As she neared her parents, Alethea walked away on the arm of a gentleman.

Susan was glad, she could not face her sister. Now she had left Henry there was a bitter taste of disgust in her mouth. She did not like herself any more.

When she reached her mother, she said, quietly, ‘May I go home, Mama?’ She did not want to see Henry come back into the ballroom. She could not speak to him or Alethea.

‘Why?’ Her father stepped closer. ‘What has happened?’

‘Nothing. I… have a headache. I went outside to try and relieve it but it is worse. Please may I go home?’

‘I will take you,’ her father answered, then looked at her mother. ‘Will you remain with Alethea?’

‘Of course.’ She embraced Susan. ‘Go straight to bed and have a maid bring you some herb tea.’

Her father held her arm as he guided her from the room.

Tears ached at the back of her eyes and dammed her throat as they stood in the hall, waiting for a footman to bring her shawl and her father’s hat. She had made a mess of everything. She was just as reckless as Henry.

During the carriage ride home she was silent and so her father was too, yet when they reached the house he asked, ‘You are not too ill?’

‘No. It is only a headache.’

‘And nothing has happened to upset you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Susan?’ He did not believe her.

‘You may rejoin Mama and Alethea at the ball. I am fine, Papa. It is probably only that I am tired. I will do very well here on my own.’

‘You are sure?’

‘Yes.’ She held his arms, rose to her toes and kissed his cheek, remembering another kiss that had not been so innocent. ‘Goodnight.’

He did not turn away, but watched her walk upstairs.

When she reached her room, the tears within her broke through the dam and flooded over, running down her cheeks in silent misery.

When people fell in love was it not supposed to be something that was happy, not tragic?

Henry held his head, his fingers clawing in his hair. He looked up at the sky which had turned the deeper blue of twilight.

What was he to do?

He sucked in a breath.

Damn . He did not want Alethea. If he took a wife it would be Susan.

But she had thrown the idea of marriage back at him.

Her loyalty to her sister was commendable, especially when he had now realised that at times that loyalty was not returned.

Yet he did not wish Susan to be righteous in this, he needed the rebellious Susan.

He drew in another breath. He would persuade her.

Convince her. He would tell Alethea there was no feeling on his part, and she was better off pursuing Stourton.

Then he would court Susan. He was not so loyal, or moral or obliging that he would give Susan up and accept misery only so that others might not think badly of him.

Self-centred.

Damn it , he was, and he was glad to be, and he would not walk away from what he wanted. He would be self-centred for them both.

His arms fell to his sides, and he walked back to the house.

When he entered the ballroom, he saw Uncle Casper protectively holding Susan’s arm, leading her from the room. Aunt Julie watched them leave the room with an expression of concern.

The current dance drew to its conclusion and the space about him became full of heavily breathing perspiring dancers.

He was lost among them. Which way to turn? What to do? He could hardly follow Susan, and yet his heart had left the room with her.

‘Henry, where have you been? I was going to save the second dance for you but you were not here.’

He faced Alethea. Her skin glowed with warmth and her eyes shone bright. Her expression said, dance with me , even if her lips were not so forward as to ask a man rather than waiting to be asked.

He lifted his arm and complied, as he had always done. ‘May I have this dance then?’

He could not continue to carelessly comply. Because now he cared, and he cared for someone else .

The music began, announcing another waltz. Of all the dances. He was in no mood to dance it with anyone but Susan.

Alethea smiled broadly as her hand lifted to his shoulder. She was being her most enchanting. Perhaps she had realised her flirting with Stourton was not having the desired effect.

He took her hand and slid his other to her back, aware of every difference between the sisters.

The music swelled and he began to turn. Alethea’s bright blonde hair reflected the candlelight and her very blue eyes looked at him with the smile that sought to allure him.

He longed to look into pale grey eyes that expressed a depth of truer emotion.

Yet he and Alethea had been friends for years, it was not difficult to dance with her and make conversation, and here was not the place to tell her the truth.

So he danced, and breathed, and his heart continued beating no matter that it felt as though it might shatter.

What he talked of, though, was Susan. He sought stories of her.

He wished he had made an effort to know her well when they were young.

He had been so self-absorbed he had never noticed the things that were the same about himself and Susan.

They might have been friends. But his past ignorance made it unsurprising that she had grown up disliking him, and it was no wonder she had no faith in him now.

Susan lay in bed hugging a damp pillow. She had cried more than she had ever cried. But she had never had a good reason to cry before.

A slight tap struck the bedchamber door. ‘Susan…’ Alethea whispered when she entered the room .

Susan let go of her pillow and swiped the cuff of her nightdress beneath her eyes as the candle Alethea carried spread light into the room.

‘Do you feel better?’ Alethea asked as she walked around Susan’s bed.

No. She felt worse now Alethea was here. Guilt dropped like a heavy stone into her stomach. She had not been crying out of guilt or for her sister’s loss, she had been crying for her own loss. She wanted to be with Henry. ‘A little.’

Alethea set the candle down, climbed in beside Susan then turned back and blew the candle out. The room descended into darkness.

‘I waltzed with Henry after you left.’

Susan thanked God for the darkness, otherwise she could not have hidden her pain.

‘I have forgiven him. I could not remain irritated, and of course he waltzes divinely, so how can I stay angry with him?’

Tears filled Susan’s eyes. One slipped onto her cheek then the pillow.

‘When he danced with you, did he say anything about me?’ Alethea asked.

‘No, we were speaking of silly things.’ Of things found only in foolish dreams . ‘You know how he likes to tease.’

‘Yes.’

Susan’s heart cramped, becoming taut and painful at the sound of contentment in Alethea’s agreement, as though Henry’s fist tightened about her heart.

I cannot love him. He belongs to Alethea .