“I love you so much, Rosalind. Will you be my wife?”
Bloody hell. He had a whole speech prepared. Even Stone had helped – some romantic stuff about roses, which he thought might possibly be stolen from a Burns poem. But in the end, it just wasn’t him: he couldn’t say it without feeling foolish and he just hoped Rosalind saw those poetic words in his eyes, in his touch and in his kiss.
Her eyes suddenly looked wet and panic set in as he watched a tear trail down her cheek. Christ, she was going to say no. “Rosalind, I know I said we’d take it slow, that I’d be patient, but I nearly lost you and it made me realise that I can’t live without you. I know it’s not been that long, although it has really, when you consider we knew each other as children, but I love you so bloody much and we can overcome any worries or doubts you may have. I know I’m a battered old soldier, but–”
Soft lips halted his words, and a hand caressed his scarred cheek before clenching in the hair at his nape.
She drew back: shining green eyes matched by the nature surrounding her, lips parted in a smile, and her head nodded…nodded!
“You will?” He watched her nod more fervently. “But you’re crying?”
She rolled her eyes dramatically and put a finger to her lips, as if to debate something. The next thing he knew, she was tugging at his shirt, and he had no choice but to fling it off over his head. She came near and he could feel her breath on his chest.
A groan burst from him as he felt her tongue delicately trace something onto his bare skin. For a while, he just enjoyed it, but then she stopped and looked up, her brows raised. Then he realised: she was writing on his chest, but it had been too pleasurable to think.
“Could you do it again?”
Rolling her eyes once more, she bent down, and this time he concentrated.
“HAPPY. They are happy tears.” He watched her nod and felt all his fear and nervousness drift away. He kissed her, hard and rough. “You command me even when you are silent, Rosalind,” he whispered softly. “A touch, a look – that’s all it takes.”
He watched her lips as she mouthed, “I love you, Lucas,” and nothing more could have made him happier.
Scattering greenery to the floor, Lucas sprawled onto his back and lifted her atop his body. Her skirts and petticoats rode up, displaying slender legs encased in jaunty apple-green stockings. Pushing his hands over the knees that straddled him, he moved the skirts higher until he encountered the ribbons holding the stockings in place – they were a deep violet.
Colour…life…laughter… Rosalind. She was all he’d ever wanted.
