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And he did, taking her in his arms and crushing her to him, matching her in impatience to kiss and touch. He deepened the kiss and lifted her from her feet so that her body pressed down on his. The kiss went on while the fire cracked and hissed until he groaned in his throat and set her down, their breath rasping.

They paused and laughed, and he glanced at the bed. She read his intention and took his hand, willing to be led. He took a shuddering breath.

“Wait,” he said. He retrieved a small velvet box from the jacket hanging over his chair. He knelt on the rug before her and lifted up the open box. A band of gold and rubies sparkled in the velvet folds. “Will you marry me and be my lady?”

He had forgotten an important line. She would remind him later, but she nodded her yes, extending her hand, allowing him to slide his ring onto her finger, pulling him up from his knees.

He glanced again at the bed, drawing a deep steadying breath, a sign, she knew, that he was going to be far too honorable for her feelings at the moment.

“Can we be married tomorrow, do you think? In London? Don’t they have ways, special licenses and such?”

A particularly broad grin erased all that was harsh in his face. “They do. We can,” he said, getting her drift, because he was not slow, her love.

She laughed then, and he pulled her to the bed and brought them both down upon it.

Harry rolled her under him, sensing her impatience, kissing and touching, pulling up her skirts, pushing her legs apart and fitting himself into the sweet hollow of her body where he could press and rock against her. He slid his hands over thin cotton stockings, finding the silken skin above her garters. She moaned and opened wider to his hand, and he shifted to cup her woman’s place through her damp drawers, using his thumb to find the nub of her pleasure.

She moaned at the touch, her arms going slack around him, lying back, looking up at him, panting and breathless, wonder in her gray eyes.

He grinned at her. “You like that.”

“I do,” she said.

“There’s more,” he said, “but let’s get rid of some of these clothes.”

He rocked back on his knees and pulled her up. She turned so he could undo the fastenings along her back. He pushed her gown down over her shoulders and pulled the pins from her hair, letting it spill down, enjoying the springy waves of it. He buried his face briefly in that hair before he turned her again to make short work of her front-fastening stays.

He tossed the practical corset aside and pulled her chemise over her head and gave his full attention to her breasts, cupping them and rubbing his thumbs across the tight buds, making her arch up to his touch.

Lucy had not imagined her breasts capable of such sensation. From the tips he touched so gently, first with his thumbs and then with his mouth, streaks of pleasure shot to her woman’s place, making it ache and weep for him. She squirmed impatiently in the crumpled folds of her skirts.

“Now you,” she said to him.

He grinned again and slipped off the bed, drawing her after him, so that he stood at the edge of the bed in the little cove of her legs. She helped him pull the shirt up over his ribs and chest, and he tossed it aside. His hands went to the fall of his trousers, and she reached to help him.

Harry shed wool and linen in a single swift move and stood before her. He did not have to tell her to look. She gave him a very frank appraisal, even his cockstand. There was no fear or distaste in her look, only curiosity and, he thought, impatience to touch. He took her hand, putting it to his swollen flesh, showing her the rhythm they would share.

He pushed her back on the bed and tugged away the last of her clothes.

They were skin to skin at last. He put the tip of his aching flesh to hers, sliding against her slick folds, still holding back, waiting for her to arch and open under him.

Lucy needed something more. She arched up against him, and with a quick flex of his hips he accomplished their joining. It surprised her, the unexpected pinch of it, and at same time, the unexpected rightness of the way her body held his so perfectly. She was an innkeeper and she knew a thing or two about welcoming a guest and making him at home, so she waited for the burn to pass and smiled up into his face taut with pleasure.

“I love you,” she said.

He lowered himself to his elbows and kissed her, his mouth touching hers as light as air. “I love you,” he replied.

She closed her eyes at the words she’d been waiting for and lifted her hips to meet his, and together they began to move to a shared beat. She felt herself stroking like a swimmer for a distant shore, swells pushing her onward, until a great surge lifted her.

He whispered, “Now,” and as he convulsed, she shuddered with a pleasure so intense it robbed her breath. The sweet lingering note of it vibrated in her as she descended from the peak. She felt him slide from her and take her into his arms, holding her like the dearest thing he had.

* * * *

Later as they lay warm, damp, and naked in each other’s arms, Lucy stirred against his chest, her right hand tracing patterns on his ribs that he found promising. She meant to test him.

“You came looking for Adam.”

“I did. Goldsworthy had an informant who said there was an important witness we had to find, a blind man.”