Her eyes searched his. “You do?”
He held her closer to him and kissed her once more, leisurely this time, treasuring her. “I do love you. No one has ever pulled down my walls like you. No one has ever accepted me as you have.”
But he’d never had a way with words when it was important. He always had a witty saying at the ready, but they were sparkling, shallow quips meant to titillate. Words of the heart, however, were a different matter, and so he fell back on his body to share with her the depth of his emotions.
He kissed her hungrily, which she met with a brilliant passion of her own. Their hands found one another again, stroking and sensual with intent. Together, they lowered to the ground as though already connected. He pushed up her skirts, revealing her slender thighs, one with a scratch down its side. Careful to avoid her injury, he eased himself over her.
“You’re sure?” he asked raggedly.
Her dark blue eyes found his. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
“I love you.” He positioned himself over her, his stare locked on hers.
“I love you,” she whispered.
With that, he thrust into her, hard and fast to break through her maidenhead. She stiffened, and he froze, fearful he’d caused her some pain.
“Forgive me.” He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her forehead and nose, as though he could ease away her hurt by doing so. “I’m told the discomfort will pass.”
She nodded, and together they moved once more, slow at first. Her grip on him was so tight that it was almost impossible to push into her. But as their bodies rocked together and found a natural rhythm, she relaxed. Pleasure tingled through Philip with each thrust, each roll of her hips, each joining of their bodies as one.
Their moans and cries of delight filled the small cabin, and soon their pace increased as they moved with more desperation. Heat pressed at Philip from all angles as he neared his release. But still, he held his crises at bay, waiting for Cecelia to find hers first.
A sharp cry tore from her and her sex spasmed against his, drawing him immediately toward his own climax. They remained locked together while their pounding heartbeats calmed. Philip eased from her and lay on his back at her side, drawing her toward him. She laid her head on his chest. They were warm in their embrace, their bodies sated as the storm continued to rage outside. As their hearts and breaths calmed, they were lulled to sleep.
The sound of his name startled him awake. The pattering of rain had ceased, and silence had taken its place.
“Cecelia,” a voice called in the distant woods.
She bolted awake at his side.
“Philip,” a masculine voice nearby called.
Too near. They both scrambled upright, adjusting their clothing to cover what they had done.
Regret pierced Philip. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t,” Cecelia said.
“We will marry, of course.”
“There’s a cabin,” Lady Bursbury said in an excited tone from outside.
There was so much more to say, but they had run out of time.
8
No doubt Cecelia looked a fright on the carriage ride back home, but she hadn’t cared even the slightest bit. Through their journey, Aunt Nancy exclaimed over the misfortune of Cecelia and Philip being lost in the storm.
Aunt Nancy’s worry, however, had been eclipsed by the occasional glances from Philip. Brief, to be discreet, and burning hot with their shared passion.
We will marry, of course.
There had been no time to say more, but then it was quite enough, wasn’t it?
Philip wanted to marry her. More than that, he loved her.
It was why Cecelia now waited in her father’s study, clean and dry in a fresh gown. The door creaked open, and he entered, his face lined and weary. “You are insisting on speaking with me. This must be important.”
