Michael awoke the next morning with a smile on his face.
Needless to say, it had been the best night of his life. Everything about it had been perfect. Anne was going to be his wife. He had made love to her. He had just awoken with her in his arms. And it had all been better than anything he could have imagined.
Michael had known some women over the past four years. Not so very many—unmarried women were few and far between on the Canadian frontier. But after he found out Anne had married someone else, there hadn’t been much point in saving himself any longer. So when a widow in the nearest town offered to relieve him of his virginity, he accepted. That woman, Mrs. Fitzherbert, had taken it upon herself to teach him exactly how to please a woman.
He was feeling grateful to Mrs. Fitzherbert right about now.
Those encounters had meant nothing to him, but he had thought at the time they were all he would ever have.
But last night… that had been something else entirely. He’d always known that making love to Anne would be special. He had expected the joy and the pleasure to surpass anything he’d experienced before.
What he had been unprepared for was the magnitude of his feelings. He had meant it when he said that she had given him the most intense physical pleasure of his life. But he had also meant it when he had said that his favorite part of their lovemaking was watching her reach her peak. When he thought about her face, in the moment that he had given her the first taste of pleasure she had ever experienced...
Just... joy. Gut-wrenching, heart-bursting, joy.
And there had been quite a few opportunities for him to enjoy watching Anne climax. After her fifth orgasm, she put on her dressing gown and snuck out into the hall to retrieve the supper tray. He made her take the dressing gown off again before they ate, which turned out to be a stroke of genius, because after they made their way through the meats and cheeses, Anne discovered a plate of strawberry tarts. That prompted Michael to confess how much he had always loved the smell of strawberries, because it reminded him of her.
This led to her teasing him, which led to him tickling her, which led to her tickling him right back, which in short order led to them both becoming extremely aroused. Which, in turn, led to him declaring that there was only one thing he could think of that was even more delicious than strawberry tarts. He proceeded to dress those areas of Anne’s body with the cream that adorned the aforementioned tarts and demonstrated how very delectable he found those parts of her to be. All of which culminated in orgasms numbers six and seven for Anne. And what kind of gentleman would he have been, if he had not allowed her to enjoy her favorite part?
Afterwards, Anne began drifting off to sleep, so he settled her in his arms. But he couldn’t resist pointing out that she would never again be able to look at a plate of strawberry tarts without imagining him with his head buried between her legs—a significant problem, considering how much she enjoyed strawberry tarts. She blushed very prettily when he said that.
As he came fully awake, Michael saw that light was just breaking through the windows. Anne was still in his arms, but she had turned in the night so that her back was facing to his front.
This meant that some of her best and most sensitive areas were literally at his fingertips, and it was tempting to avail himself of that access. But they’d had a late night, and he didn’t want to wake her.
As he lay there, struggling to resist temptation, she moaned and muttered something he didn’t catch.
“Anne?” he asked. “Are you awake?”
Her response was another string of babble, but there were two words he caught.
They were Mmmmmmm and Michael.
He smoothed her hair aside and began kissing her neck in hopes that she was waking up. She groaned and arched her back, which had the effect of pressing her bottom into his eager cock. It also caused his arm, which was draped over her, to brush against her breasts. She purred and grasped him by the wrist, placing his hands there more firmly. He was glad to comply and began teasing first one nipple, then the other.
He was enjoying the incoherent sounds of pleasure she was making when she grasped his wrist again, this time to pull his hand down across her stomach. Even halfway asleep, she gave a wiggle of anticipation, and then she spread for him and positioned his hand exactly where she wanted it. He found her wet, as he knew he would. He began giving her slow, gentle, teasing little rubs. Within a few minutes, she was writhing in his arms and moaning his name. He kept his touch deliberately gentle. Her eyes blinked open, and he saw the moment she realized it wasn’t a dream.
“Michael,” she said in a breathy voice, “that feels sooooo good! I need... I need...”
He kept his strokes deliberately slow and gentle. “What is it you need, Anne?”
“You...” She trailed off as he gave her sweet spot a particularly delicious swirl. “Oh, Michael!”
“Perhaps some of this?” he asked, continuing to pet her just where she needed it most.
The sounds she made next did not qualify as English words, but to Michael, they were the sweetest music in the world.
“What do you want, Anne? Do you want to come like this?” he asked, momentarily increasing the pace of his hand. “Or do you want my cock?”
“Oh, Michael, I want them both!” she cried. “But I suppose I can’t have that. I want... I want your cock,” she confessed, ducking her chin as she said that word for the first time.
She was trying to roll over onto her back, but Michael had an idea. “Stay there, darling. Your wish is my command.”
He lifted up her top leg, parting her, and tipped her torso forward just a bit. He continued stroking her between her legs with his free hand. But from this angle, he thought he could make this work...
Anne groaned as she realized what he was doing. As he flexed his hips to slide his cock inside her, she pushed back, until he was fully seated while they both lay on their sides. “Oh, Michael!” she cried out. “That feels so good!”
He began pumping into her, gently at first, keeping his hand working her little sweet spot. His cock and his hand proved to be an excellent combination for Anne. She was out of control within seconds, and an orgasm ripped out of her on his fifth thrust.
He enjoyed that, he enjoyed that very much. Was there anything better than watching the woman he loved taking such sweet pleasure from his cock? But, having come four times in the past eight hours, it was going to take him a little bit longer to achieve his own release. He continued thrusting into her gently, but moved his hands up to her breasts, worried that her little rosebud might be too sensitive so soon after her peak. He need not have worried, for although she was clearly enjoying his ministrations to her breasts, after a couple of minutes, she grabbed his hand and pulled it back down between her legs.
He loved that. He loved having her so eager for his touch that she was demanding his hand. And so he rubbed her with renewed effort, and pumped into her from behind, and to his immense satisfaction he was able to give her orgasms nine and ten. His own release soon followed, and it was every bit as powerful as his previous four.
She turned around and snuggled up to him. “Good morning,” she said.
“It certainly is.” They fell into a companionable silence. After a few minutes, he said, “Could I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Had you really never had a climax until last night?”
She blushed. “I had not.”
He ran a thumb over her flushed cheeks. “It’s just that... you’re so good at it.”
She laughed. “I think you’re the one who’s good at it, as you put it.”
“Believe me, you’re good at it too. Very good. You made me forget myself. I didn’t take any precautions, didn’t wear a sheath, or even remember to withdraw. You could conceive,” he said carefully.
She sat up, her hands going to her stomach. She was beaming. “I hadn’t thought of that! Do you really think so?”
“You never know.” He smiled. “You would be excited about the possibility—here I was thinking you would be worried about a scandal.”
She laughed. “What scandal? I’ve an appointment this morning, but we can be married by special license this very afternoon, as far as I’m concerned.”
“I love the way you’re thinking,” he replied. “Although perhaps we should allow a few days so we can send word to our families. I know my father would be disappointed to miss his only son’s wedding.”
“You’re right, our families must be there. Although I don’t know that we should wait for Caro. I almost don’t even want to send her word. She would feel she had to come back, and I hate to interrupt her bridal trip.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he said, pulling Anne down to lie with her head upon his chest. “We’ll have the ceremony sometime in the next week. Then we can leave for Canada the week after.”
Anne blinked and lifted her head from Michael’s chest. Surely she must have misheard. “Canada? What do you mean, leave for Canada?”
He grinned at her. “You’re going to love it there, Anne—it’s so beautiful, and every day is an adventure. I can’t wait to show you everything I’ve built.”
Oh, thank goodness—he just wanted to show her what he’d been doing these past four years. “You mean as a bridal trip?”
He laughed. “We’ll be there a bit longer than your standard bridal trip.”
Of course, it took so long just to cross the Atlantic, it would only make sense to stay for a few months. Such a long trip would require extensive planning. She would have to find friends to oversee the various functions of her charity while she was gone.
She would need at least a month to prepare.
“How long did you have in mind?” she asked.
“That depends, of course, but I hope we won’t be coming back for thirty or forty years.”
“Thirty or forty years?” she cried, sitting up. “What do you mean, thirty or forty years?”
“My father is as healthy as a horse and thank God for it. I’m in no hurry to ascend to the marquessate. But of course, we’ll have to return to England once I do.”
“But Michael, surely you cannot be thinking to move to Canada until you inherit? You’re the heir. You belong in England. Your father needs you. I need you—we all need you!”
His smile was fond as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “And I need you too, Anne. But you’ll always have me. You need never worry about that. We’ll always be together. In Canada.”
“But I cannot move to Canada!” she cried.
Michael had been so excited imagining what the next couple of weeks held that he’d been paying scant attention to Anne. He looked at her now and was surprised to see that she was genuinely in distress. He sat up and took her hands, and said carefully, “I see that this has come as a surprise. It will be a big adjustment, to move away from all your family and friends. I see that now. But give yourself a few days to get used to the idea and it won’t seem so daunting. After all, the only thing that matters is that the two of us are together.”
“No, Michael, that is not the only thing that matters!” she exclaimed. “It’s not just a matter of my family, although I cannot imagine leaving them for thirty or forty years. My society is here. There are so many people depending on me.”
“Now, Anne, I know your society is important to you. But I need to be in Canada. So you’re going to Canada, too.”
Anne swallowed and looked sadder than he could ever remember seeing her. “If that’s the case, Michael, then I cannot marry you,” she said, her voice breaking.
Michael couldn’t believe what he had just heard. It was a sensation he had felt only once before, when he found out Anne had married someone else—a sledgehammer to the center of his chest. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t—she couldn’t—she had to…
“You have to marry me,” he said, the words emerging rougher than he would have liked.
“I cannot. Not if you insist on moving to Canada.”
“You have to,” he repeated, his panicking brain not functioning well enough for strategy or finesse. “You promised that you would.”
“That was before I knew you were going to drag me off to Canada!”
“You have to, Anne,” he said again. “You could already be carrying my child! If you would just think rationally—”
He saw her eyebrow twitch and realized that hadn’t been the right thing to say.
“I am thinking rationally!” she hissed. “You’re the one who’s not thinking rationally! So many people are counting on my society, are counting on me. I cannot abandon them, I cannot—”
“I cannot believe,” he snapped, “you would even contemplate refusing me so you can stay here, and… and”—he gave a contemptuous flick of his wrist—“knit scarves for the poor!”
She froze, then slowly raised her head. Her expression held the wrath contained in a single eyebrow twitch, multiplied ten thousand-fold. Even though he stood a full head higher than her, Michael found himself recoiling.
“Knit scarves for the poor?” she said slowly. “Knit scarves for the poor?”
Oh, God. He had always imagined that when he died, it would be in his own bed at the age of ninety. Or perhaps he would be thrown from his horse, or mauled to death by a bear. Something manly.
But no. Judging by Anne’s expression, he was about to be murdered.
By the kindest, most saintly woman in all of England.
He tried to backtrack. “I did not mean to imply that it was not important work—”
“I have never once knit a scarf, in my whole entire life!” she exploded. “Is that how little you think of me? Knit scarves for the poor!”
She shot off the bed and began tearing around the room. It took him a second to realize that she was gathering up his discarded garments. She strode through the door that led to her sitting room.
He hurtled off the bed as he realized her intention. He reached the door as she flung it open and threw his clothes out into the hall.
“Anne!” he thundered, hurrying to retrieve them. “Be reasonable! We need to discuss this calmly.” He spun back toward the door. She stood framed in the doorway, naked and irate, holding his drawers in her hand. As he stepped forward, she threw them square in his face.
He ripped them off his eyes, but it was too late. She slammed the door in his face, and he heard the tell-tale click of a key turning in the lock.
He pounded on the door. “Anne Astley, you open this door right now!”
“Go away!” was the muffled answer he got in return.
“We have not finished!” he thundered, only to be interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his throat.
He looked up and saw the footman he had met last night, Hugh, striding down the hall, flanked by four of his fellows. Michael hastily moved his drawers in front of his groin.
“Uh… m’lord…” Hugh blinked, and Michael could almost see him struggling to figure out the proper decorum for addressing an irate earl who was naked in the hallway. “Her ladyship has an appointment this morning.”
“Hang her appointment,” Michael snapped. “I need to speak with her.”
Hugh began rolling his shoulders, as if he were loosening up. That was when Michael noticed that Anne’s footmen were... unusual. Footmen were usually selected for their height, their fine figure, and their elegant bearing. These fellows met the height requirement, perhaps, but ‘elegant’ wasn’t the word Michael would have chosen. They were huge, hulking men. Three out of the five looked to have had their noses broken, probably more than once. And judging by the way they were glaring at him, they weren’t above roughing up a peer of the realm, if that was what Lady Anne required.
Michael sized them up. He could likely take any one of them in a fight, but not all five together. He sighed, recognizing defeat when he saw it.
Hugh perked up as he marked Michael’s capitulation. “Come, m’lord. There’s an empty bedroom right there. I’ll be your valet.”
One of his fellows snorted, and Hugh rounded on him. “What? I can manage!”
Michael reluctantly accepted Hugh’s offer, and fifteen minutes later, he found himself standing on the street, gazing up at Anne’s window.
Well, this was a setback. He’d lost that battle.
But that didn’t mean he was going to lose the war. He spun on his heel and headed back to Cranfield House to plot his next move.