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Lower still, a thatch of white-blonde curls did little to hide glistening petals flushed deep pink and soaked with desire. The rosewater scent of her made his head spin.
Distantly, he considered the possibility that their first time together might last no longer than it took to make tea. He’d have to make it up to her.
His cock had waited two years. It wanted inside.
“Now, you,” she demanded.
Vaguely, he comprehended her meaning, tearing at his waistcoat, cravat, and shirt. She lost patience before the cravat and started on his trouser buttons.
Frantically, they worked to free him of his clothing, achieving only partial success. In the end, her nipples were to blame. They tempted him to suckle. To taste. To nibble and draw deep. She writhed, yanked at his hair, and nearly choked him with the cravat that somehow remained around his naked neck.
“Andrew Farrington,” she cried in a high, thready voice as he slid two fingers into her soaked, virginal sheath. “A little warning would have been… that is… oh, my.”
“Deeper?” he inquired after relinquishing her swollen left nipple. “You’re tight.”
She nodded frantically and arched her back.
He delved deeper. Suckled harder. Circled her swollen bud with his thumb and gave her more. To the fullest, now. Sweet little ripples threatened. Pulsed. She was ready.
He removed his fingers, gave her needy nub a tender stroke, then positioned his cock at her entrance. He caught her gaze. Laid her down and braced himself above her with her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and her lips whispering his name. Love for her—his precious, necessary Euphemia—filled him until his skin stretched tight.
She still wore her spectacles. He still wore his boots.
He grinned.
So did she. She traced a finger over his lips. Her eyes glowed as bright as the merry dancers. Her expression softened into tenderness. “I’ve loved you longer, you know,” she whispered. “Before Bergamo. Before London, even. I loved you from the first.”
His heart seized. Thudded. Ached with the fullness inside it.
He entered her in a stroke. She winced a little. But soon, she caught his rhythm, long and slow. Deep and steady. As he drove deeper and deeper and faster and faster, she cupped his face and kissed his mouth and held him in thrall.
Hot, wet woman squeezed him hard.
“I would battle gods for you,” he growled, setting a pounding pace. “I’d fight every damned day to return to your side.”
A smile. A pleasured moan. A happy tear. “I’d follow you off the cliffs of Girnigoe and carry you home with me so we’d never be parted.”
He took her deeper, driving hard enough to repeatedly slam the table into the wall. Neither of them cared. Pleasure wound and coiled, hitched and seized. Her sleek body stiffened and squeezed, demanding he fill her as she screamed at the peak of her pleasure.
The wonder of her—Euphemia’s love, Euphemia’s heart, forever his—hurled him toward culmination. He buried his face in her incomparable white-blonde hair. And found himself launched into the sky, bound to the earth, and shattered into stardust, all at once.
*
The sun roselate on a Highland winter’s morning. Euphemia didn’t mind. She stretched lazily beside her husband and snuggled deeper into their bed.
“I should like to spend Christmas with Charlotte and her family,” she said, propping her arm on his chest and her chin on her arm. “Perhaps we can visit Northumberland on the way home.” She traced a finger over his lovely lips. “Do you think they’ll approve?”
“Of Christmas? Yes, I should think so. Young Jameson is fond of pudding.”
She rolled her eyes. “Silly man. My question was whether they’ll approve of me. They are the Marquess and Marchioness of Rutherford, after all. One day, you’ll beSirAndrew Farrington.” She sighed. “Who am I? A research assistant. A private secretary. Glorified clerk, really. You’d be more easily forgiven for wedding your housekeeper.”
He kissed her and patted her naked backside. “Nonsense. Mrs. Brooks makes dreadful tea.”
She snorted with laughter.
“You are the woman I love,” he murmured. “A brilliant, resourceful Sinclair bride with the blood of legends running in her veins.” He kissed her again. “You are my most necessary treasure.”
Her heart turned over, melting for the man she adored.
