Katie MacAlister - The Trouble With Harry

“This isn’t your fault, sweetheart. None of it is. You did nothing wrong. To tell you the truth, I’m proud of you.”

“Proud?” She goggled at him, a tiny goggle to be true, but still a goggle. He was proud of her? For what? “How can you be proud of me? I’ve done nothing to be proud of, quite the contrary!”

“I beg to differ, you’ve done much to be proud of. You survived a bigamous marriage that might have warped lesser women.”

Plum sniffled again, her heart still heavy. “I didn’t have much choice.”

“You wrote a book that has brought pleasure to hundreds of people.”

“A book so notorious that no bookstore would admit to carrying it.” Plum took the handkerchief Harry offered and delicately blew her nose.

He tipped her chin up, smiling down at her with love shining in his beautiful eyes. “You married me.”

“Any woman with a shred of common sense would have done that,” Plum replied, warmed by the look despite the knowledge of what she was going to have to do.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “You accepted my five little hellions into your heart despite their best attempts to drive you mad.”

“Well,” she said with a little smile, “I will admit that might have taken a tiny little morsel of courage, but they are good children. Most of the time. Sometimes. Underneath, where it counts, they’re good. Even India has come around, and I thought she’d never warm up to me, although I admit, allowing her to wear her hair up and that pair of pearl earrings I bought for her birthday might have something to do with the thaw in her affections.”

“She simply realized her good fortune in having such a wonderful stepmother. Not many women would stop running from the little monsters long enough to see their better qualities,” Harry said dryly, then pulled her closer, his hands warm on her backside as he teased her lips with his own. “What amazes me the most is that despite everything, you love me.”

She melted completely against him, unable to hold out under the heat of his passion. “I would have to be witless not to, you’re eminently lovable.”

“I am,” Harry agreed, swinging her up in his arms. “I am so lovable, you should worship me in tangible methods that will leave me exhausted, but sated. Would you mind opening the door?”

Plum turned the latch. “Harry? Where are we going? I thought we were going to discuss Charles, and what to do with him?”

“We are. We will. Later. Right now I must address the issue of a wife who keeps secrets from her husband.” Harry climbed the two flights of stairs without the least sign of strain.

Plum, for a moment concerned by what Harry said, realized by the heated gaze that seared her that he was truly not angry with her for not telling him everything before they married. “There simply couldn’t be a more perfect man than you,” she sighed, tugging at his cravat, freeing the tanned column of his neck from its snowy hold.

“No, there couldn’t,” Harry said shamelessly, the twinkle in his eye warming her almost as much as the stark, burning desire she saw there. He pushed open the door to his bedchamber, kicking the door shut behind him. “Which is why I feel you should worship me. Daily. Hourly, even. I am a god amongst men, wife, and I expect you to treat me as such. Let us discuss the form this worship will take.”

“Well,” Plum said as he allowed her to slid down his body until she was standing. His fingers danced along the back of her gown, slipping free button after button. Plum shivered with anticipation as her gown parted. “I thought that first I might make a sacrifice.”

“A sacrifice?” Harry cocked an eyebrow at her. She gently took the spectacles off, followed by his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt. “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about—”

“ Acolyte Worshiping the High Priest ,” Plum said, her hands dancing along the fastening to his breeches.

Harry sucked in his breath, looked wild for a moment as she reached within his breeches to wrap both hands around the hard length of his arousal. “You said that was the one connubial calisthenic that had not been taught to you. You said that was the one you had thought up all yourself, the one you had never put into practice, the pinnacle of all the calisthenics, the one you were saving for a very, very special occasion.”

“This is such an occasion,” she said, smiling because he was panting. Her smile deepened when he shuddered, prying her hands off him with a look that warned her he was close to losing control. He jerked her gown off, not even pausing to admire her lovely new frothy shift before he removed it, too. She kicked off her shoes. “My stockings?”

He eyed her, a deliciously wicked glint to his eyes. “We will leave them. You are, after all, a deliciously naughty acolyte. You will have to be punished later.”

“Oooh,” Plum said, giving up the last of her guilt. She loved him, and knew he loved her. She would do whatever she had to do to make sure that nothing tarnished that love. She took a deep breath, then immediately lost it when Harry’s warm mouth closed over her breast. His mouth was hot as it kissed a path around her soft flesh, teasing an already aching nipple with both tongue and teeth. Her fingers bit hard into his shoulders as she tried to keep her legs from giving way under her. “What sort of punishment are you speaking of? Will it involve your hand and my bare…um…sit-upon?”

“It might. Or it might involve two feathers, and the leather cuffs,” Harry said as he pulled her close to him, fitting the soft curves of her flesh exactly against his hard planes as if they were designed specifically for one another.

She breathed in the wonderful scent of his lemon soap, allowing her head to fall to his shoulder as she pressed her lips to the pulse point in his throat. “And what sort of form would you like the ritual purifi cation of spirit to take, oh mighty High Priest?”

“Bathing,” Harry said, sliding his hands along the long length of her thighs, his eyes alight with love and passion and desire. “You will need to bathe me. Later. Much later. I plan on being very sweaty.”

Plum opened her eyes and tipped her head back to gaze into his face as he slid an arm around her waist, lifting her and carrying her the few steps to the bed. She mused for a moment about the ridiculously wonderful nature of men that made them feel it necessary to carry their women to a bed, then pushed that thought aside to concentrate on more important things. “About Charles—”

One boot thudded to the floor. Harry glanced at Plum for a moment, a glance so full of promise she squirmed on the bed as he used the bootjack to pry off the other boot. “Later, Plum. We’ll talk about that bastard later.”

“Yes, but I am worried—”

“Later,” Harry repeated, quickly stripping off the rest of his clothing, standing before her in all of the glory of his masculinity.

Plum’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze greedily consumed him from toes to nose, tossing aside her cares, worries, and unhappiness, giving herself up to the wondrous love that bound her to her husband.

“Harry,” she mumbled against his breastbone some time later, her fingers trailing up the side of his rib cage, reveling in the heat of him. “We should talk about Charles.”

Harry groaned slightly and shifted beneath her. “You’re insatiable, woman. Give me a few minutes to gather the tatters of what strength you’ve allowed me to retain, and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

Plum giggled, lifted her head, and gently bit his chin. “It was a particularly successful calisthenic, wasn’t it? I very much enjoyed the benediction.”

Eyes closed, but with a smile on his face, he answered. “I thought you might like that. A little something I thought of one day when I saw a balloon ascension.”