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She bit her lip to stop the trembling.
He entered, his dark shape transforming into defined features much as her furniture had done in the early light. His eyes were indigo with emotion. Was he angry? Forgiving? Full of love? No, he was tense. So, not here to grant her absolution.
“Nicholas,” she started, not quite sure what she could say to make him understand. No words came.
In a few quick strides, he was with her, taking her into his arms and seizing her mouth with his. She surrendered easily, relishing his attack. Oh, how she had dreamed of this. The reunion of her fantasies. He was not gentle, and she was glad of it. He was angry. He was needy. So was she. She met his every volley, craving this as much as he did.
He shuffled backward with her until her legs hit furniture, and they buckled upon a chaise. His weight was a comfort, the hardness pressing against her stomach a joyous relief. She wanted to shout in triumph. He wanted her. He loved her. He must,musthave forgiven her! Her kisses became feverish as she pushed at his open shirt, her hands caressing his warm chest. She whimpered. For so long she’d imagined touching him again.
“Catherine,” he murmured, grabbing her hand and pressing it to his heart. “My Catherine, my love.” He raised her hand and kissed it with such aching veneration that tears blurred her vision.
“How I have yearned to be with you again. How memories of you have sustained me through endless nights.” His eyes darkened further. “Picturing you here at the folly kept me going. Knowing that you had yet to know the pleasure of our joining ensured I did not capitulate in battle. I knew I must come home to you. That you waited for me to fulfill my promise of loving you.” He rested against her neck, gently nuzzling.
Oh yes, she’d waited. She’d longed. She had spent each night lighting a candle and praying for him. That he come home safely. That he come home to her. That, after his worldly experience, she would still be enough.
How many nights had she dreamed of this? She ran her hand through his hair, relishing the familiar feel of the thick strands, of his breath on her neck, of the spicy scent of him. The last thing she wanted was to shatter the moment, but she needed to know for sure, needed to hear the words. “You forgive me?” she asked quietly, going still, hope and fear mingling.
He raised his head and stared at her. His brow furrowed, and her heart skipped a beat. “Forgive you, my love? There is nothing to forgive. I don’t fully understand what happened, but I know if there is blame, it rests entirely upon his shoulders.” He kissed her forehead and then pulled back again, locking gazes. “His actions are not yours. I do not forgive you, because there is nothing to forgive.”
“I didn’t think you would understand. I love you so. I never stopped, even when…” Her voice caught in her throat. No words could express her relief, her joy. So, instead, she pulled his head down and lost herself in a kiss that left her panting with need.
She touched his face, tracing his sharp cheekbone down to the slight cleft in his chin, not knowing what to ask.
“Nicholas? I want…” She wanted more of him. She wanted all of him.
“Shh, my love, I know. I need more too. We’ve waited so long.”
Grateful she did not have to give voice to her rapacious thoughts, she rested her head back on the cushion. He sat up, and she mewled at the loss. A smile lit his face.
“Hush, Cat. You’ll be well sated soon.” He tugged at his shirt, swiftly pulling it over his head.
She gasped. A puckered ridge bisected his stomach. She reached out, tracing it with her finger, wanting to weep at the pain he must have endured with such a wound. Saddened she had not known he’d been hurt, had not been there to tend to him. He grabbed her hand.
“I told you I would bring back a souvenir.” He grinned.
“How can you be so cavalier, you blackguard?” She tried to swat him with her other hand, but he caught it before she could strike. He took both her hands in one of his, stretched them over her head, then leaned in and stole another kiss.
“Blackguard, is it?” He licked a path down her neck, pausing at the high collar of her riding habit.
She giggled at his growl.
“I prefer your pretty, little dresses, the ones that show me those wonderful creamy…” His voice trailed as he nuzzled her breasts through the lightweight wool.
“Oh, but my wandering soldier, this is so much more convenient,” she purred as she pushed at him, shrugged out of her jacket, and reached for the first clasp on the front of her bodice. Stretching out beside her on the spacious lounge, resting on his elbow, he eyed her fingers working at the second eyelet. His grin was slow, evil, and absolutely delicious.
“Miss Baring, let me assist you with that.” He knelt, unhurriedly undoing the long line.
Catherine brushed the dark locks from his forehead. She loved his hair like this. It curled in abandonment, rebel locks falling where they chose. She tucked a strand behind his ear as he reached the end of the row and pulled her frock apart. Despite despairing that he would never see it, she had worn her most delicate chemise.
His contented sigh sang in her heart. He took a nipple in his mouth despite the silk barrier. She groaned, and he moaned in response. Abandoning her breast, he gripped her neckline and tore the delicate fabric, ripping it down the center. There was no embarrassment, only a ripple of excitement at the sounds of the rent and his labored breathing. They both watched the hand he trailed languidly down to her stomach.
“Oh, Catherine.” His eyes shimmered, their sadness a window to the regret of lost years.
“Hush,” she whispered, tapping a finger against his cheek, “there is only here and now. Only us as we are meant to be.”
He turned his head and kissed her finger. Then, without another word, his mouth resumed its pleasuring, nurturing the exposed bud. She cried out at the exquisite pain, and he pulled back, his face filled with concern.
“I’m sorry. Perhaps we should not…I mean…” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just…I have waited too long. I have dreamed for so—”
