He bent, set his lips to her ruched nipple. She cried out. He suckled; she gasped. Sinking her hands in his hair, she held him to her. Held him while he rocked her, pleasured her, while they came together and the sounds and scents of their joining wreathed through her brain, filling, reassuring, exciting.
She wanted more.
More of him.
All of him.
She wanted what he did.
Catching his head between her hands, she urged him to look up.
When he did, dark eyes heavy-lidded, lips rich, fine, wicked, she caught his gaze. Gasped, “Enough. Take me. Finish this.”
His steady thrusting between her thighs didn’t ease. He looked deep. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Surer than of anything in the world. Slowing her own rhythm, she lost herself in his eyes. “However you wish, however you want.”
For one long moment, he held her gaze.
Then she was on her back, flung across his bed, clinging to sanity as with her thighs pressed wide, his bound hands beneath her head, palms cradling it, he thrust into her body, hard, deep-
Sanity fractured and she flew apart.
Royce gasped, fought to hold still so he could savor her release, but the contractions were so strong they ruthlessly, relentlessly drew him on, until with a muffled roar he followed her into oblivion, his release, so long denied, rolling over and through him, powerfully raking him, wrecking him, leaving him drained, a husk buoyed on a welling emotional tide, coming back to life as glory seeped in, and filled him.
As his heart swelled, and he drew in a shuddering breath, through the haze in his brain, he felt her lips caress his temple.
“Thank you.”
The words were a ghost of a whisper, but he heard, slowly smiled.
She had it arse over tit; it was he who should thank her.
A significant time later, he finally summoned sufficient strength to lift from her, roll onto his back, and with his teeth pick apart the knot at his wrists.
She lay slumped alongside him, but she wasn’t asleep. Still smiling, he scooped her up, dragged down the covers, then collapsed on the pillows, arranged her in his arms, and tugged the covers over them.
Without a word, she snuggled against him, all but boneless.
Pleasure, of a depth and quality he’d never thought to feel, rolled over and through him. And sank to his bones.
Tilting his head, he looked into her face. “Did I pass your test?”
“Humph. Somewhere through all that”-she waved weakly toward the end of the bed-“I realized it was a test for me as much as you.”
His lips curved more deeply; he’d wondered if she’d seen that.
Curiously clearheaded, he revisited the events, and even more the emotions-all they’d broached, drawn on, used, revealed, over the last hour.
She was still awake. Waiting to hear what he would say.
He touched his lips to her temple. “Know this.” He kept his voice low; she would hear all he wanted her to hear in his tone. “I will give you anything. Anything and everything I have to give. There is nothing you can ask for that I will not grant you-whatever I have, whatever I am, is yours.”
Each word rang with absolute, unshakable commitment.
A long moment passed. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation.
“Good.” Lips curving, settling his head on the pillow, he closed his arms about her. “Go to sleep.”
He knew it was a command, didn’t care. He felt her sigh, felt the last of her tension fade, felt sleep claim her. Taking his own advice, contented to his toes, he surrendered to his dreams.
Nineteen
A t a smidgen before dawn, Minerva floated back to her room, flopped into her bed, and sighed. She couldn’t stop smiling. Royce had more than passed her test with flying colors; even if he couldn’t promise love, what he had promised had more than reassured. He’d given her everything she’d asked for.
So what now? What next?
She still had no assurance that at some point what presently flared so hotly between them wouldn’t die…Could she risk accepting his offer?
Could she risk not?
She blinked, felt a cold chill wash through her. Frowned as, for the first time, the alternative to accepting-refusing him, turning her back on all that might be and walking away-formed in her mind.
The truth dawned.
“Damn that mangy Scot.” She slumped back on her pillows. “He’s right!” Why had it taken her so long to see it?
“Because I’ve been looking at Royce, not me. I love him.” To the depths of her soul. “No matter how many symptoms of love he has, my heart won’t change.”
Infatuation-obsession had grown to something a great deal more-more powerful, deeper, impossible to deny, and immutable, set in stone. Whatever trials she staged, even when he passed with flying colors, were no more than reassurance. Comforting, enlightening, and supportive, yes, but in the end, beside the point. She loved him, and as Penny had said, love was not a passive emotion.
Love would never allow her to turn her back on him and walk away, would never allow her to be so cowardly as not to risk her heart.
Love would-and did-demand her heart.
If she wanted love, she had to risk it. Had to give it. Had to surrender it.
Her way forward was suddenly crystal clear.
“Your Grace, I will be honored to accept your offer.”
Her heart literally soared at the sound of the words-words she’d never thought to say. Her lips curved, and curved; she smiled gloriously.
The door opened; Lucy breezed in. “Good morning, ma’am. Ready for the big day? Everyone’s already bustling below stairs.”
“Oh. Yes.” Her smile waned. She inwardly swore; it was the day before the fair. The one day of the year in which she would have not a moment to call her own.
Or Royce’s.
She swore again, and got up.
And plunged into the day-into a whirlpool of frenetic activity and concerted organization.
Breakfast for her was rushed. Royce, wisely, had come down early, and already ridden out. All the guests had arrived; the parlor was a sea of chatter and greetings. Of course, her three mentors were agog to hear her news; given the company, the best she could do was reconjure her radiant smile.
They saw it, interpreted it accurately-and beamed back.
Letitia patted her arm. “That’s wonderful! You can tell us the details later.”
Later it would have to be. It had been too many years since the staff had coped with a house party and the fair simultaneously; panic threatened on more than one front.
Tea and toast downed, Minerva rushed up to the morning room. She and Cranny spent a frantic hour making sure their days’ schedules included all that needed doing. The housekeeper had just left when a tap on the door heralded Letitia, Penny, and Clarice.
“Oh.” Meeting Letitia’s bright gaze, Minerva tried to refocus her mind.
“No, no.” Grinning, Letitia waved aside her efforts. “Much as we’d like to hear all-in salacious detail-now is clearly not the time. Apropos of which, we’ve come to offer our services.”
Minerva blinked; as Letitia sat, she glanced at Penny and Clarice.
“There is nothing worse,” Penny declared, “than idly waiting, kicking one’s heels, with nothing to do.”
“Especially,” Clarice added, “when there’s obvious employment in which our particular talents might assist-namely, your fair.” She sank onto the sofa. “So share-what’s on your list that we can help with?”
Minerva took in their patently eager expressions, then looked down at her lists. “There’s the archery contests, and…”