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Pierce captured her hands in his, lifting both arms over her head and interlacing their fingers, all the while refusing to relinquish her stare. “I love you.” His words coincided with his body’s initial penetration. Parting the delicate folds of her skin, he pressed into her welcome wetness, tightening his grasp on her fingers as he battled for a final vestige of control. “I love you,” he repeated hoarsely, pushing forward until they were one.
Two tears slid down Daphne’s cheeks.
Instantly, Pierce stilled. “Am I hurting you?”
Daphne smiled through her tears, reiterating the very words he had used mere moments ago. “Not hurting me. Killing me. But don’t even consider ending your torture.”
Pierce laughed, a husky, primitive sound of pure male satisfaction. “Never, my beautiful wife. Never.” His words ended on an agonized groan as Daphne raised her hips, drew him deeper inside her. And everything inside him snapped.
Throwing his head back, Pierce began to move in hard, frantic strokes. “I can’t.” Sweat drenched his back. “Daphne, I can’t wait.”
From far away he heard her high, feverish cry. Dimly, he felt her legs clamp around his waist, her fingers tighten in his as she met his wildness, thrust for thrust. Already delayed beyond endurance, his climax erupted in a heartbeat, tearing through his loins, setting fire to his every nerve ending as it exploded from his body into Daphne’s in an endless, scalding torrent. He shouted her name, unable to still the driving motion of his hips, lunging forward again and again as he poured his being into hers.
He felt Daphne tense, her body arching like a bowstring as the fire ignited, spread as wildly through his wife as it had through him. She cried out, once, twice, then tossed her head on the pillow as the spiraling began, spasms of completion that escalated higher and harder than ever before.
Pierce shuddered, dropped his head into the curve of her shoulder as he reveled in her climax, surrendered himself to the hard contractions that gripped his shaft, made him shudder anew. Amazingly, another wrenching spasm was torn from his loins, liquid heat merging with his wife’s final, glorious tremors.
Weak, utterly spent, they collapsed in each other’s arms, both loathe to move, unable to speak.
Pierce felt his wife’s tears, the gentle quaking of her body as she wept.
“Don’t cry, Snow flame,” he murmured into her disheveled cloud of hair. “Please, don’t cry.”
“I never knew such joy existed,” Daphne whispered. “Thank you, Pierce. You’ve just given me the most wondrous gift.”
A hard lump formed in Pierce’s throat, a constriction too vast to overcome with words, even those he’d just uttered for the first time. Daphne believed his love to be a gift, and so it was. But it was she, not he, who had bestowed it, offering him unconditional love and faith and, the greatest miracle of all, teaching him to do the same.
Reflexively, Pierce’s arms tightened around his wife, overwhelmed by the miracle that was his. More fervently than ever he reiterated his silent vow that nothing, no one, would ever hurt Daphne again.
Not her father’s hatred.
Nor the exploits of the Tin Cup Bandit.
“Does Pierce seem well to you?” Daphne asked the vicar anxiously. Her friend blinked in surprise, glancing across the schoolroom to where Pierce stood amid the squealing children, watching Russet chase his tail in wide, vigorous circles.
“Why, yes, he seems fine. The children are enthralled, your reticent little fox cub has unconditionally befriended him. Why, even our difficult-to-please Miss Redmund is smiling. I’d say your new husband’s coming out has been an unequivocal success.” The clergyman studied Daphne’s furrowed brow. “What is disturbing you, Snowdrop?”
Daphne gave a tentative shrug. “I’m not certain. Pierce has been so preoccupied lately, as if something is troubling him, something he chooses not to discuss.”
“I noticed no sign of that when I visited Markham last week.”
“It’s worsened since then.”
“Have you questioned him?”
“Of course. He never quite answers. Nor does he deny being troubled. He only changes the subject as rapidly as possible.” She inclined her head quizzically. “Would you speak with him, Vicar?”
“What exactly is it you’d like me to say?”
“Convince him that he needn’t keep his emotional quandaries to himself. Remind him that love involves more than tenderness and passion. It involves friendship and trust. He respects you, Vicar. If anyone can convince him to share himself, that someone is you.”
A flash of insight flickered in the vicar’s eyes. “You know precisely what’s bothering your husband, don’t you?”
“I have my suspicions, yes. But that matters not. In this case it is Pierce who must come to me, not I, to him. Please, will you talk to him?”
“Very well, Snowdrop. As it happens, I have another matter I must discuss with Pierce today. I’ll bring your concerns up immediately thereafter.”
“Thank you.” Daphne squeezed his arm. “I feel better already.”
