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“I’ve dreamed of you too,” Emma said, “but that doesn’t explain—”

Pushing both garments aside and pinning them with his hand, he used the other hand to guide her legs apart. He deftly untied the garter that held up the thick woolen hose that protected her from the cold.

“Trust me,” he said. Dear God, was she real?

She allowed him to guide her, moving one leg away from the other. When he moved his head toward her, Emma pressed herself back against the wall.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, looking up.

“Aye.”

He ran his hand gently up her calf, trying to ignore the effect her smooth curves had on him. “I’m simply going to kiss you, Emma.”

He would have laughed at the look on her face if he’d not thought it might offend her.

“I did this in my dream last night,” he said.

“Did I enjoy it?”

“Very, very much.”

He paused just a moment longer, watching as her expression turned from confusion to resolve, and then leaned forward toward the dark curls. With only one hand free, he did his best to part the folds beneath his fingers, and then he kissed her there. Gently at first and then, encouraged by her response, more ardently. Her sweet wetness, combined with a soft moan, reassured him Emma had overcome her shyness.

When her legs began to shake and her hands moved to the back of his head, Garrick knew she was close. He brought her to the height of pleasure, her cries coinciding with the evidence of her orgasm against his lips.

He opened his eyes, her hands still clasping his hair, and groaned at the sight of her sweet, slick sex.

When he remembered what had happened next in the dream, Garrick forced himself to drop her gown and stand. He pulled her gaping cloak back together, his heart thudding against his chest.

If this was how it felt to be in love, Garrick should have considered doing it much sooner.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

She blinked, her mouth parting to speak, but no words came out.

“Good,” he said.

He wanted to adjust himself but couldn’t. Bringing attention to his own need would be useless. He would have to wait.

“I’m not quite sure I . . . that is . . . I don’t, in fact, know what I was going to say. What are you laughing at?”

“You.” He couldn’t help it. “I love that you’re unable to form a coherent thought because of how much I pleasured you.” He traced her cheek with his finger. “I love that you came here, though I hate that you put yourself in danger.” He moved his finger to her lower lip. “I love your passion. Your willingness to face the world with your eyes wide open.” Garrick replaced his finger with his lips. “I love you,” he said, claiming her with his mouth, kissing her with all of the pent-up worry and desire that had weighed down his gut these last days.

Reality began to intrude when she shivered beneath him.

Garrick stood back just slightly, giving her room. “You’re cold?”

“Nay,” she lied. “But why are we out here?”

“Why did you come?”

“Why have you not?”

Garrick took a step back, knowing their perfect liaison was about to be ruined. “She’s here.”

He could tell she didn’t know of whom he spoke. “Your mother?”

Garrick shook his head. “Nay . . . well, aye, my mother is here. She arrived just yesterday, which is why I haven’t come back to you yet.”