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“Girls in my circumstances. Poor girls.”She shrugged and looked down into her glass, self-conscious as she took another sip.

“How about you?” she asked, eager to turn the conversation away from herself.

“Have you ever been in love? Oh yes, of course you were—with Anne de Bourgh. You were engaged, after all.”

He sought and held her gaze. He seemed at once both far away and yet focused completely on her.“I thought I was but now…”

“Now?” She prompted him, not knowing if she wanted to hear his answer or not.

He shook his head. “Never mind. That was a long, long time ago. Would you like a little more whiskey?” He stood up to fetch the bottle.

“Maybe a little more.”

“This should probably be it for you. We don’t want you waking up with a headache tomorrow.”

He stopped, holding the bottle in mid-air.“Listen.” He walked over to the radio and turned the volume up a little. Elizabeth heard the strains of Night and Day coming through the speaker. The music had a thin, tinny sound compared to the band’s live rendition at the Nashville jazz club.

William took the glass from her and pulled her up into a dancing embrace.

He clasped her hand gently and moved her in small smooth steps.

She was a little light-headed from the whiskey—just enough to let him guide her effortlessly around the parlor floor.

His cheek rested against her hair, and she felt his warm, bourbon infused breath in her ear as he sang the words in a soft baritone.

Elizabeth felt warm and tingly all over.She tried to pull away—a half-hearted move at best—but he only flattened his hand against her lower back and drew her closer.

There was a brilliant lightning flash, and the lights flickered once, twice and went out, surrounding them with a close, intimate darkness.

William had stopped dancing when the music and lights went off, but still he held her, waiting.

He pulled back as if to look at her, and his low, smooth voice sang the rest of the line, the lazy sound of it slowly covering her—like sugar cane molasses running down a bottle.

The room was silent, and his mouth was coming closer to her, closer, closer.

Then his lips were on hers—not tentative like he usually kissed her, as if she were made of glass—but confident and sure.

Her hand slid from his, and she wrapped it around his neck, feeling the silky waves of his hair between her fingers.

His lips slid over hers, drawing her lower lip between them.

She gasped and he proceeded to plunder her mouth in rhythmic, devouring kisses.

Elizabeth had never imagined kissing could be like this.

His kisses made her feel the way some of her dreams did—wanting something, just something—and then she always woke up gulping air, her skin on fire.

She made a weak noise in the back of her throat and he broke away, resting his forehead against hers.

Breathless, she whispered, “William, the lights.”

“Will probably be off until tomorrow.” He led her to a cabinet by the stair, where he reached into a drawer and drew out a candle, a candle stick holder, and a book of matches.

He struck the match, and it hissed—the smell of sulfur wafting through the air.

A warm light threw shadows about the room and gave her husband a mysterious, intriguing appearance as he backed toward the stair, pulling her gently by the hand.

“Come.” His husky voice seemed to emanate from all around her.

Slowly, they made their way upstairs to the bedroom.

He set the candle on the nightstand and turned the bed down.

Then he approached her, stopping when there were just a few inches between them.

His hands slid up her arms and around her shoulders.

He drew a finger around the neckline of her dress and dipped it into the space between her breasts.

She sighed, and he looked at her, as if asking permission.

She smiled shakily, and his fingers began undoing the buttons down the front.

When he reached her waist, he slid his hands under the fabric, caressing her sides before he returned to her shoulders to push the dress off.

Elizabeth felt as skittish as a newborn foal.

He had never tried to undress her before—she always came to bed with her nightgown and robe already on.

But he was different tonight—and she was different.

It was as if they had some new understanding, some connection that allowed them to know each other’s thoughts, each other’s wishes.

While she was pondering how this could possibly have happened, she realized he had divested her of her bra, and she was naked to the waist. He ran his hands over her, studious as he cataloged every nook and cranny, each dip and swell.

His palm curved around one breast, and he held it in his hand, his thumb gliding across it, making her shiver in response.

He studied her face, smiled, then slowly, he sat down on the edge of the bed and lowered his mouth to her breast, bestowing on it a kiss and a gentle taste from his tongue.

Heat surged through her body and settled down below her belly. Her knees nearly buckled.

He returned to her waist and unbuttoned just enough to let the dress slide down and pool around her feet. He pushed her undergarments to the floor. She opened her mouth to protest, to protect her modesty. He surely wouldn’t want to look at that part of her!

He put a finger over her lips as he stood back up. “Shh,” he whispered. That was all he said, but it spoke volumes—he was in complete control of himself—and of her—tonight.

He picked up her hands and laid them on his chest, bringing her fingers to his shirt buttons.

She took his unspoken cue and began working the buttons open, while his head dropped back, and his eyes fluttered closed.

When the shirt was off, he guided her hands to the front of his trousers.

She could feel his arousal pushing on the fabric before she undid the buckle and drew the zipper down, pushing the trousers down over his legs.

She tried to pull his boxers down too, but they caught on him.

“Whoa, there!” he gasped. “Let me do that, a little more carefully.”

She giggled. “Sorry.”

“Get in bed.”

She slipped between the sheets, curious as to what he would do next. Before she could turn back around, she felt him, warm and close behind her.She started to face him, but he stayed her motion.

“No,” he said. He ran a hand over her hair and held it in his hand for a second, then he pushed it over her shoulder.

She felt his fingers trailing down her spine, followed by his lips, bestowing slow, hot kisses on the paths his fingers had taken.

When he reached the swell of her bottom, he filled his palm with her cheek and kneaded it with strong, steady strokes.

His tongue traveled back up her spine, and he nipped at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

An unladylike sound escaped her mouth, and she could feel his lips curving into a smile against her shoulder.

“Yes,” he whispered.

She was momentarily embarrassed, even wondered if he was laughing at her, but her thoughts were distracted when he reached down to her hips and turned her so she was lying face down on the bed.

She lifted her head to look over her shoulder but only saw his silhouette against the candlelight.

He ran his hand surely up between her legs, and by the time he reached her knees, she knew what she wanted.

She wanted those warm, rough hands to touch her in the most private places of her body.

She spread her legs a little to encourage him, and when he reached her with gentle fingers, she let out a long shuddering sigh.

Her head dropped to the pillow and she lost herself to the sensations coursing around her body and settling where he touched her.

Of their own volition, her hips moved against his hand.

She no longer cared if he laughed at her; she cared about nothing at all except that he not stop.

But he did stop, and when he pulled his hand away, a tiny, whimpering cry escaped her.

“William, what are you doing?”Her voice was unrecognizable to her, for how low and hoarse it was.

“Mmm,” was his only response, and he took hold of her hips again and turned her over to finally face him.

This was more familiar territory for her, and yet, something was very different about it.

When he entered her, it was in one long stroke as if she had pulled him in.

She nearly sobbed with relief.And when he moved, she moved with him, starting slowly and then faster, faster.

He rose up on one elbow to look at her and the other arm slid under her hips, pulling her even closer.

She cried out and her body trembled with the force of release.

He laid her down and reared up on both hands, arching his back and uttering a triumphant roar to accompany a release of his own.

Elizabeth lay very still; she couldn’t move anyway because she was reasonably sure all her bones had melted. William rested on her heavily, his face in her neck. His harsh breathing warmed her skin, before he rolled off her and onto his back, his forearm across his eyes.

“William? I—I’m not… Do you know what just happened to me?”Her voice sounded small and uncertain.

He peeked out at her from under his arm, and his expression was one of smug male pleasure with a dash of boyish playfulness.“Yes.”

His smile turned gentle, and he rolled toward her, propping his head up on his hand. Reaching out, he brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s what I want to happen every time I love you.”

She knew he was talking about the act and not the feeling, but when the three words “I love you” washed over her in his deep baritone, her heart burned and fluttered.

“Oh.” She smiled, a little timid.

His dimples made an appearance, mere shadows in the candlelight. He reached over and extinguished the flame. Then, he pulled her to him, chest to back, resting his hand on her breast. “It’s been a long day, my wife. Go to sleep now.”

She yawned and snuggled into him, feeling herself enveloped in warmth and safety. As her eyes fluttered closed, she thought she heard him whisper into her hair, “My Lizzy.”

Elizabeth awoke the next morning shortly after dawn.

Blinding sunlight streamed through the window.

Apparently, in their distraction of the previous night, they both forgot to close the drapes.

Grinning, she lifted her arms overhead in a languorous, cat-like stretch.

She rolled over, eager to see her husband and face the new day with him, but he was gone.

His pillow and the sheets were rumpled, indicating he had truly slept there with her, but now in the harsh morning light, she realized, once again, she was alone.