Loving was a sharing-she knew that to her bones. She threw herself into it, searching for ways to use her body to pleasure him just as he was using his to pleasure her.
And if they wrestled, she suspected he enjoyed it as much as she did. Their lips remained fused, but in the brief moments they parted she delighted in the ragged sounds of their breathing, in the urgency that so patently gripped him, and her, and made them strive, body to body, heart to thudding heart.
And then they would dive back-into the kiss, into the flames, into the rising indescribable heat. Even if this was her first time, she was eager to make it count, to welcome the glory, make it hers and search for more…
Until it sizzled in her veins, streaking through her, until it whipped the flames racing over her skin to a conflagration. One that sank deep, then coalesced, that drew in and tightened, inexorably, unrelentingly focusing…
He groaned through the kiss and thrust hard and deep, and an explosion of sensation rocked her. Shattered her, shards of pleasure so sharp they glittered flying down every nerve, every vein.
Until she flew, free of the earth, wholly taken by the glory.
For two heartbeats, Gareth savored her release, teeth gritted held desperately on, but the ripples of her sheath, tight and powerful, milked him, and drew him irresistibly on.
Release swept him, deeper than any he’d ever known.
Surrendering, letting his shuddering body have its way, he let go, and followed her into ecstasy.
Bliss. Emily decided there was no other word to describe the sensation.
Lying on her back in her rumpled bed, Gareth a hot heavy weight slumped on his stomach alongside her, she stared at the ceiling, a smile on her face, an unusual sense of peace in her heart.
So this was what the aftermath was like. Her sisters had never been able to find words; they’d told her she’d know when she was there.
Gareth stirred. He seemed to be having difficulty finding the strength to move. She knew the feeling. She sincerely doubted she could lift a toe.
He’d slumped upon her at the end, but had roused enough to move off her rather than crush her into the mattress. Not that she’d minded; she’d rather liked the feel of his body all but boneless on top of hers.
Perhaps because she’d been responsible for reducing it to such a state.
Moving slowly, he propped himself on his elbows, then he turned his head and looked at her, a long assessing gaze. His hair was delightfully tousled, his features still rather slack, lacking their usual focused determination.
She felt her lips start to curve, let herself smile as sunnily as she felt. “That was rather wonderful.”
He looked at her for a moment, then uttered a sound between a grunt and a humph, and shifted onto one elbow the better to look down at her. His expression had sharpened into his customary commanding mein. “We’ll get married when we reach England, of course.”
She held his gaze, not the least surprised by the decree. She’d expected something of the sort-no formal proposal, no down on one knee. Certainly no swearing of undying, enduring love.
But if she’d gained one thing from the night, it was absolute and unequivocal confirmation that he was, beyond all doubt, her “one,” the one gentleman above all others she should marry.
Her response to his decree was, therefore, already decided. However…looking deep into his dark eyes, giving thanks for the strong moonlight that allowed her to do so, she realized that, courtesy of the begum and her seductive outfit, she and he had leapt ahead several steps.
She knew he was her “one,” but did he know she was his?
That was a critical question, one she couldn’t go forward to the altar without answering. Without knowing exactly why he wanted to marry her.
He was a man for whom honor was a real and tangible entity. That he would seek to use honor as a screen for marrying her was predictable, but she wasn’t about to allow him to hide behind it. If he loved her as she loved him, as she hoped and prayed he did, then he should, and would, have the courage to own to it.
If he truly loved her.
For her, nothing else would do.
Eyes on his, she smiled, light and sweet. “Perhaps.”
Lips still curved, she closed her eyes, reached out and patted his chest. “We need to sleep.”
It was too warm for the sheet. She settled in the bed, let her limbs go lax.
Gareth stared at her, then, as she no longer could see, allowed his inner frown to materialize. Perhaps? What the devil did that mean?
To his mind, the matter was simple. He wanted to marry her-he’d known that since he’d first laid eyes on her in the officers’ bar in Bombay-and now she’d given herself to him-all but seduced him-that, to his mind, settled that.
Frown darkening, he turned onto his back, and stared up at the ceiling. She’d been a virgin, she’d wanted him, and had got what she’d wanted. Marriage was the natural end of that tale.
Why perhaps?
His mind circled a thought he really didn’t like, prodding the latent potential sore spot. Had she really wanted MacFarlane, but, when fate denied that, decided to try him as her second choice? Her second best? Was that why she wasn’t sure?
He remembered. Wondered. Finally asked, “Why did you follow me to Aden?”
She answered immediately, without shifting or opening her eyes. “Because I thought that this”-she raised a hand and waved it to indicate them and their state-“might be in our cards, and I needed to get to know you better first. Before.”
Before? He continued to frown. Did that answer his question? His real question?
Opening her eyes, she turned her head to look at him. He wiped the frown from his face before she saw it.
Her expression told him she was still floating in the aftermath.
She studied his face for a moment, then, lips still curved, waved again. “Does this always make one so…lethargic? Sleepy, but not quite the same? I feel as if I haven’t a bone to my name.”
He felt a spurt of satisfaction that was almost pride. “Yes-that’s how it should feel.”
And given she did feel that way, there was no point pressing her for the right response to his decision on their future now. They had a journey to complete, and he knew how to persuade.
Raising his arm, he shifted closer, reaching across to lift her and slide his arm under her shoulders, turning her to him so she settled against his side, her head on his shoulder. “This is how it’s supposed to be.” He may as well seize the chance to establish the procedures he intended to adopt from now on.
Especially as, at the moment, she seemed entirely amenable. She wriggled and settled, then relaxed.
He felt the tension that had returned to him leach away.
He looked down at her head, then dropped a kiss on her hair. “Go to sleep.”
He felt more than heard her soft humph, but she complied. He listened to her breathing slow.
Head back, he closed his eyes and inwardly smiled. They were going to be together for several more weeks. And, he vowed-a quiet vow in the fading moonlight-that by the end of their adventure she would be his. He wouldn’t be letting her go.
Not ever.
Twelve
19th November, 1822
Early morning
Still in my bed, but now alone
Dear Diary,
WELL! It happened. Finally. And yes, I can enthusiastically report that lying with a man-the right man-is every bit as wonderful as I’d imagined. Indeed, my imagination was sadly lacking in several pertinent respects, but no matter-the reality was better than my dreams.
Of course, there was-as my sisters have indeed warned me so often happens when dealing with a man-a caveat. A matter that did not go quite according to my plans. Namely Gareth’s consequent declaration, not of undying love, but that we will marry.