Nicholas’s vision went almost completely black, and he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting. She moaned, and he paused. “Did I hurt—”
“Don’t stop,” she demanded.
Thank God. He wanted to do anything but stop at that moment. He pulled back, thrust deeper, and the two of them found a rhythm. It seemed to Nicholas the two of them had been lovers for years. He was attuned to a change in her breath that let him know she liked something, and even before he could tell her to rise on tiptoes or bend over more, she was doing it. He held out as long as he could, and when the orgasm was upon him, he circled her swollen nub with his fingers until she arched back and clenched him, small cries beginning in the back of her throat.
They came together, which was a rare thing, and which meant he couldn’t enjoy her climax as much as he wanted. But the way her body gripped him and the way she bucked made his own release all but blinding.
When it was over, he paused to catch his breath. Amelia was breathing heavily too. Keeping one hand on her back to steady her, he withdrew and reached for his trousers, tugging them up and over his legs. As he fastened the fall, she stood and straightened, turning to gaze into his face. “I didn’t know people could do it that way as well,” she said. She had lived on a farm most of her life, so he understood exactly what she was saying. He might have even been able to think of a reply if she hadn’t looked so completely and utterly beautiful in that moment. Even though they should both be rearranging their clothes, he pulled her to him and kissed her again, this time slowly and sweetly, saying with his lips what he wasn’t quite ready to think too much about in his mind.
She’d told him she was falling in love with him. He couldn’t allow himself to feel the same.
She pulled back, her expression scolding. “You promised we would talk.”
He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to sit in a chair, pull her onto his lap, and make love to her all over again. But as much as he’d rather speak with hands and bodies, he had made a promise.
“Let’s sit down,” he said. His legs were throbbing, and he needed to take some of his weight off his left leg. He hadn’t so much as removed his coat, so he tucked his shirt into his trousers and hobbled to the coach across from the desk. He sat, stretching his left leg out in front of him and watched as Amelia pinned her bodice back in place and straightened her skirts. Her hair was a complete wreck and would give her away, but given that they were married, it didn’t really matter. Besides he liked her hair loose and tumbling about. She sat beside him on the couch and glanced at the desk.
“I don’t think I shall ever see that desk in quite the same way again.”
He smiled. “Neither shall I, and that’s a good thing.”
“Why? Did it hold bad memories before? Memories of late nights and endless ledgers?” she asked, speaking as someone who probably had experience with both.
“There’s that, but this was always the room my father called us to when we were in trouble. We’d stand on the other side of the desk. The side we, er—”
“Knew each other?” she said, using the Biblical term.
“Yes, I’d stand there while my father lectured and doled out punishments.”
“What sort of punishments did he give out?”
“It differed for each one of us, but mine were usually time away from the stables. I wouldn’t be allowed a ride the next morning and had to spend my time mucking out stables instead. Little did he know, I didn’t mind mucking out stables. As long as I could be with the horses, I didn’t care what I was doing.”
“Was he a very strict father?” she asked, moving closer to him so their bodies were touching. He liked being close to her. Liked their thighs and arms touching.
“He was a marquess,” Nicholas said, and to him that seemed to sum up his father completely. She tilted her head in confusion, and he clarified. “He was raised with high expectations, and he passed them on to us. Of course, Henry received the majority of those expectations. As the heir, he wasn’t allowed much room for error. Richard wasn’t treated much differently being that he was the spare. But Florentia, Anne, and I were superfluous. We were expected to toe the line, but he didn’t take much of an interest in us beyond that.”
He felt her hand close around his and pulled his gaze back from the desk and the past to look at her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That must have been difficult. Surely your father would have been proud of you when you went into the army. Even I heard of your distinguished exploits against the French.”
Nicholas shrugged. “Thank God he died before he could see what’s become of me.”
“What’s become of you?” she demanded, her voice suddenly sharp. “You’re a war hero.”
“War hero,” he made a derisive gesture. “There’s nothing heroic about war. It’s death and fear, and all the soldiers bear the scars. Mine are just more visible.”
Her hand squeezed his, and Nicholas appreciated the comfort. “How did it happen?” she asked and nodded at his leg. “I heard your horse fell on you. Is that what happened? Is that why you don’t ride anymore?”
“You want to know how it happened?” he asked. He hadn’t really told anyone except Colonel Draven the full story. He hadn’t ever wanted to tell it again, but Amelia was his wife. She deserved to know.
He must have been staring, unseeing, at the desk for several moments because she reached over and took his face in her hands, gently turning his head to face her. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I want to know you, Nicholas, but only what you’re ready to reveal of yourself to me.”
Her words were telling, being that he hadn’t yet revealed his physical injury. Somehow talking about it seemed safer than showing her. He took her hands in his. “It happened during a battle in France. The troop had been in France for almost a year by then, skulking about, collecting information, sabotaging supply wagons, stealing munitions. The ultimate goal had been to get close enough to Napoleon to assassinate him. Ewan Mostyn—you’ll meet him at the house party—was to kill him if it were to be done hand-to-hand and Nash Pope—our sharpshooter—would shoot him if we couldn’t get close.”
“And what was your job?”
“I did a bit of everything. Mostly I made sure we could keep moving. I procured horses and conveyances, and Aidan Sterling and I stole food provisions when we ran low. It wasn’t easy keeping twelve to fifteen horses fed and watered and out of sight, and it mainly fell to me. By the time I was sent home, there were sixteen of us left. We’d started at thirty and were down to sixteen.” He looked down at their joined hands. “Rafe Beaumont and Neil Wraxall had been away for a day or two, trying to gather intelligence as to where Napoleon might be lodging. The idea was we could go there and make a plan to kill him. When Neil returned, he said he had different orders. Rafe looked worried and that made the rest of us worry and for good reason. We were being sent to the front to shore up a flank of the British army. There would be a large battle in a few days, and they needed every available man.”
“You must have been terrified.”
“I don’t remember,” he said honestly. “I think by that point I’d been terrified for so long that I was used to the feeling. We broke camp and rode for the front immediately, arriving the night before the battle. The others were officers or had been trained as infantry. They were either put in charge of units or sent to join a unit. I’d been trained in the cavalry, and I was sent to join those men.”