Theodore kissed her then, and it was nothing like the desperate passion of their earlier encounters. This kiss was tender, reverent, a promise made and received in the press of lips and the gentle brush of tongues.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes shone with an emotion so powerful it stole her breath.
“I love you,” he said again, as though the words had been locked inside him for so long that now released, they demanded repetition. “God help me, Cressida, I love you more than I thought it possible to love someone.”
“Then take me home.” She smiled through her tears, reaching up to brush the disheveled hair from his forehead. “And never let me leave again.”
The journey back to Ashmere passed in a blur of stolen kisses and whispered confessions. They shared Theodore’s horse, Cressida seated sidesaddle before him with his arms bracketing her body, holding her secure against his chest. Each time they stopped to rest the animal, he would help her down and then immediately pull her back into his arms, as though he couldn’t bear even brief separation.
“We’re being terribly improper,” she observed during one such stop, laughing as he kissed a path down her throat.
“We’re married.” His teeth grazed her pulse point, making her gasp. “I’m allowed to be improper with my own wife.”
Heat flooded through her at the rough promise in his voice. “Theodore?—”
“Soon.” He pulled back, though his eyes darkened with barely restrained desire. “But first, I need to get you home.Ourhome.”
When they finally arrived at Ashmere, twilight had begun its slow descent, painting the castle in shades of amber and pink. Cressida felt her throat tighten at the sight of it—this place thathad started as a prison and become something else entirely. Something like belonging.
Theodore dismounted first, then reached up to lift her down. But instead of setting her on her feet, he cradled her against his chest, carrying her toward the entrance as the staff emerged to greet them.
Mrs. Agnes stood at the front, her expression radiating barely concealed delight.
“Your Graces.” Her smile suggested she knew far more than she should about the state of their marriage. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Agnes.” Theodore’s arms tightened around Cressida. “Please have a bath drawn in the Duchess’s chambers. And we’re not to be disturbed for the remainder of the evening.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” If the housekeeper found anything unusual about the Duke carrying his wife inside while issuing orders for an undisturbed evening, she gave no sign of it. “I’ll see to it immediately.”
Theodore carried Cressida up the main staircase, past the portraits of disapproving ancestors, and down the familiar corridor to her chambers. He shouldered through the door without bothering to set her down, kicking it shut behind them with decisive finality.
Only then did he lower her to her feet, his hands immediately finding the fastenings of her traveling dress.
“Bath first,” she protested weakly, even as his mouth found the sensitive spot beneath her ear that made thought difficult.
“Bath later.” His fingers worked the buttons with practiced efficiency. “Right now, I need to make up for seventeen years of denying myself what I wanted. What Ineeded.”
Cressida shuddered at the sheer passion in his voice as her dress pooled at her feet, followed quickly by her petticoats and stays.
Theodore’s coat and waistcoat joined the growing pile, his cravat abandoned somewhere near the door, his shirt pulled over his head and tossed aside with gratifying urgency.
When they finally stood bare before each other, Theodore paused, his gaze traveling the length of her body with such reverent hunger that she felt heat bloom across her skin.
“You’re so beautiful, it hurts to look at you,” he said roughly, his hands spanning her waist. “And you’re mine. My wife. My Duchess.Mine.”
“Yours,” she agreed, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. “Just as you’re mine.”
He lifted her then, carrying her to the bed and laying her down with a care that belied the urgency vibrating through his frame.He covered her body with his own, skin to skin, heat to heat, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.
“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth. “Whatever happens, whatever challenges we face, I love you.”
Theodore’s response was a kiss that demolished any remaining distance between them. His hands mapped her body with possessive hunger, relearning curves he’d memorized weeks ago but approaching now with the certainty of a man who knew she wouldn’t disappear come morning. Who knew she was his, not because of contracts or duty, but because they’d chosen each other despite every obstacle.
When he finally settled between her thighs, his length notched against her entrance, he paused. “Tell me again.”
“I love you.” She wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him closer. “I love you, Theodore.”
He entered her with one smooth thrust, and she gasped.
