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His love.
His love.
And she knew he had not uttered a single lie.
“Do it,” she whispered.
He eased inside her, and light exploded behind her eyes as they fluttered shut. It felt strange to be filled like that, but there was no resistance within her, only welcome. The fire in her belly crackled merrily, still burning bright in the wake of his ministrations.
Then there was pain—sharp and sudden. She winced, and he paused, but Bridget opened her eyes to gaze into his. “Please,” she said again. “Keep going.”
So he did, and she groaned as his weight settled over her, as his length filled her. Her hands flew up to grasp at his broad, muscled shoulders, trailing over an equally sculpted back, her nails biting into the flesh when he pushed inside her completely.
He moved gently, slowly, like the rolling waves of an ocean. Graham did not seem to be in any hurry, quite unlike how she felt. She had been in such a rush to get to that point, and now he was inside her, and it felt… right.
It was as if her body had been begging her to give into his… for years. She held Graham in the cradle of her thighs, wrapping her legs around him as the rain hammered against the window in time with her pounding heart.
She looked at him again, finding his brow furrowed in concentration, sweat beading on his forehead. Bridget planted butterfly kisses on his cheeks, on his lips, her hands beginning to draw lazy circles on his back.
“Make love to me,” she whispered.
His eyes opened, and he gazed into hers with something like wonder.
And then he began to move.
He fueled her fire, increasing friction and speed. The slight pinch of pain that remained quickly turned to pleasure, and Bridget had to bite her lip to keep from crying out and waking the entire household. Graham held her tenderly, ravishing her while making her feel like the most treasured creature in all the world.
His kiss on her throat seared her like a brand, and marked her as his.
And she returned the favor with sharp nails on his back, raking them down his spine.
The fire inside her was growing, building, roaring to life. What had been mere kindling with their first kiss was now an inferno, enveloping her in flame. She felt Graham had fallen into that fire, too, and she felt his skin hot everywhere she touched.
Thunder boomed as she again found bliss, and this time, Graham joined her. His mouth covered hers, and she felt the resonance of his moan as it echoed into her chest, as the thunder rattled the windows. Graham buried himself to the hilt one last time, and his whole body shook as he met her in oblivion.
Bridget’s senses came back slowly—first the sound of rain pattering on the window, then the sight of a touch of light on the horizon. As they had made love, the storm had calmed, and the outside world raced back toward them. Graham’s head rested against her chest, and he lifted his head to gaze into her eyes.
She expected him to say something about finally leaving for the constable’s—to get back to the business at hand.
But he did not.
Instead, he stroked her hair away from her face and kissed her tenderly on the forehead, his thumb sliding over her cheek.
“We have so much ahead of us, my love,” he murmured.
“I know,” she whispered. “And I cannot wait to see what our future holds.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY
As morning broke, Graham was forced to leave Foxglove Hall.
Time was of the essence, as they perhaps had a matter of hours before Lord Bragg came looking for Bridget—or before he realized something was wrong. If he did, he would surely go on the run, and once he was back at his Liverpool home, bringing him to justice would be all the harder.
Thus, Graham reluctantly left his betrothed behind, safe with his mother, and mounted his horse to ride into town.
The paths were slick, with gravel dislodged by the rain tumbling down the hills. Graham took care with how he rode, taking some areas at a steady walk despite his heart racing with anxiety. As morning crept up on them, Bridget had expressed fear over her mother’s safety, and Graham was inclined to believe that Bragg might in fact do something truly terrible—if not to Lady Sedgwick then to one of the numerous servants in his employ. He was the sort to take his anger out on others.
Graham would not see a single other person fall victim to that monster; he would do all in his power to see him behind bars.
