Page 112 of Holding Onto Love

Lifting her up, he backed her against the wall, hoisting her skirts so that she could wrap her legs around his hips. It was not new or even particularly unusual for them to make love standing, but it felt clumsy. She wore oddly heavy footwear and if he didn’t lay her down it would become awkward. He considered, briefly, carrying her to her bedroom—there must be one—it couldn’t be more than ten steps away—but ten steps were too far. Swinging her about, he laid her down on the table, knocking the wildflowers to the floor. He bent over her, reaching beneath her skirts. There was no sweeter sound than Vanessa, murmuring Jasper, no sensation more pleasurable than her fingers twining through his hair. They should talk things through, somewhere deep in his brain he knew they should talk first, but she had said yes, and he was on fire.

“I need you,” he begged. He needed her desperately.

“Yes, Jasper. Please.”

He tugged at his trousers and let them fall around his ankles, then yanked her shirts above her waist. He tried to be considerate of the discomfort of her position, at least to slow down, but she responded to his haste with an urgency of her own. They didn’t speak, didn’t tease one another, didn’t play with one another to savor the experience. He lost himself in a whirlwind of lust too long denied, giving over to it with an incoherent shout of release. Too late, he realized he’d spent his seed inside her.

Vanessa gasped, then laughed a little. She shifted position, her eyes dewy and her cheeks reddened. She gestured toward the stove, making him aware that the kettle was boiling. It probably had been for some time.

“Do you still want tea?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “That was selfish of me.” He continued stroking her thighs, but when she pushed down her skirts and wriggled up to be seated, he fixed his own clothing also.

She laughed again, less awkwardly. “I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.”

“Again and again.” But it was not only taking his pleasure without ensuring hers that had been selfish. His haste, his careless haste, may have robbed her of the opportunity to decide differently. Apparently, he’d given her two days, not the three she’d requested. And now, they must marry soon.

She went to fetch the kettle. He watched every movement, memorizing her all over again, replaying in his mind her acceptance of him. Of them.

Unconditionally, yes. An odd way to respond to a marriage proposal.

He waited for her to bring him his cup.

“You accepted me using the language of surrender. I don’t want to…to win if it makes you feel that you’ve lost.”

“Jasper, the one thing I can’t bear to lose is you.” She sat beside him.

“But you’re giving up things that are important to you.” He touched her chin, trying to get her to meet his gaze, but she would not look up.

“I merely meant I don’t want our solicitors negotiating another contract. I don’t want to argue over conditions.”

“Not conditions, Vanessa. Not negotiations. We won’t argue. But tell me your concerns.”

She hunched over her teacup. She seemed to want to say something. He gave her time, but she didn’t speak, so he pressed.

“You have concerns.”

“We’ve discussed them before. They’re irresolvable. I’m concerned that the ton will never truly accept me. I don’t care so much for myself. I don’t belong in that world, not fully, but you do. And I don’t want you to be hurt when we’re excluded from it.”

“I won’t be hurt. Anyone who would exclude us is no one I care to remain friends with.”

“Jasper.” She laughed as though groaning. “You’re being too agreeable again.”

“Too agreeable?” Olivia had accused him of something similar once. As though amiability was a fatal flaw.

“You think you are addressing my concerns. You even make me believe you’re addressing them. But you’re really only dismissing them.”

He stared. He tried to sort through what she was saying. He didn’t know what she wanted, but tried again.

“I don’t mean to be dismissive. Perhaps I’m being naïve. I might be unpleasantly surprised by people I consider my friends. Then, likely, I will be hurt. And angry. But if you’re concerned that will lead to regret, it won’t.” He frowned, hearing his own words. “Is that still dismissive?”

Her lips curled.

“Skip that one,” he said, frustrated with himself. At least he was amusing her. “What other concerns do you have?”

“I don’t know how to be a countess. And your household must be huge.”

“That’s valid.” Damn it. He was trying to be disagreeable by agreeing with her. He forged on. “There is a ridiculous amount of protocol for you to learn.”