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She took a breath, watching him worry the edge of his sleeve in his opposite hand. Then he straightened his fingers, flexed one hand, relaxed it and ran his forefinger along his opposing thumb, softly brushing back and forth.
She couldn’t take her eyes from the mirror.
‘If I were to choose one minute in my life,’ he said, ‘to live over and over again, it would be this one.’
‘You say all the right words—almost...’
‘I know. I say the easy ones. How hard can it be to tell a woman she is beautiful?’ His fingers slowed, curling into a soft, unmoving clutch.
‘But you are honest to us both.’
‘A man must be more than his wishes, his dreams. He must set his path and follow it. He cannot let himself be swayed by what...he desires.’
‘Words of your father.’
His reflection tensed, but his words held no emotion. ‘True words. Words I believe.’
‘I know. And I do not know if I hate you or love you.’
‘Perhaps it would be best if you hated me.’
‘I have seen how love withers when a man marries a woman who cannot follow him in his life,’ she said. ‘I know I am not your idea of a duchess and living that life is not what I see for myself. This simple room is how I wish to live. I am like my mother, except I know not to walk her path.’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Do not think if you lie with me, there will be a wedding to follow. I would not be compromised. I do not have to bow my spirit to anyone. The dowry I have has made that true for me. I do not have to listen to your society’s rules and I am not staying in London either. I will find a small place and have a simple life. I will plant my own flowers and cook my own meals. I will work side by side with my husband to make a home that is ours alone.’
She stopped watching his reflection in the washstand mirror and turned, examining his eyes. Her lips turned up, but it didn’t feel like a smile. ‘I suppose I will feel differently when you leave tomorrow to find your duchess. But today I love you.’
* * *
Her lips were soft under his. She tasted of nature. Perhaps it was the spiced scent which always seemed to cling to her, or perhaps it was because she was so different from the women of his past and future. But he didn’t care about the reason. Just for a few moments he wanted to experience her.
She clutched at him, pulling him to her. He ended the kiss too soon, leaving their faces pressed cheek to cheek, feeling their breaths mingle. Then he sat on the bed and took her by the bottom, skirts and all, pushing them up just enough so he could sit her astride him. He kissed her again and ran his fingers up her back, through the thin material of her gown, until he touched one of her shoulders. The feel of her under his hand captivated him.
He buried his face in the cleft of her bodice, awash in the heavenly sinful friction of cloth covering soft, delicate skin.
Keeping his lips against her skin for all but the briefest moment, he slipped the shoulders down on her gown, revealing a corset contrasting against the flesh that blossomed over the top of the stiff fabric. Her breasts, like her hair, barely stayed in their constraints, as if waiting for the smallest movement to free them.
Hooks unclasped under his fingertips. The corset ties hardly needed a tug, and when she stirred against him, the corset fell open and the chemise had already slid down her shoulders.
As he removed her clothes she slipped from one form to the next, becoming a woman from another land, a world he’d never seen, and a magical being, female, feminine and with the ability to hold him captive with her spirit.
His hands grazed over her back, taking strength from her body, filling him with a sense of power. She arched against him.
He had not known it could be like this. To be inside this realm of another person, gaining strength from them.
* * *
She increased the distance between them just enough to capture this moment in her vision. To see him. His eyes were shut. Defenceless. Innocent. Never had she seen such a captivated look on a man’s face. His nose, aquiline, and lips, soft. She moved, brushing her forefinger over them, and he kissed her and kept one arm at her waist while he pulled back the counterpane and watched as she slid into the bed.
He swept the coat from his shoulders, removed his waistcoat and pulled the cravat away in a silken whoosh. He whipped his shirt up and over his head—stopping her breathing for a minute. He tossed the garment aside. For half a second he stood motionless.
He sat beside her and the narrow bed, not made for two people, sagged with his presence. She placed her hand in the very small of his back, savouring the feel of his muscles beneath her fingertips while he tugged at his boots and then his stockings. The buff doeskin slid from his legs and he lay almost over her, propping himself on his elbows to keep his full weight from her, skin heating skin.
