Page 48

Violet recovered slowly with Alistair by her side.

Often, he read to her from any text in the Rosehips library he could find that mentioned medicine.

Herodotus, Aristotle, and bits and pieces of Shakespeare.

The apothecary from Romeo and Juliet and certain lines in Measure for Measure were among their favorites.

But often they just spoke. Of her dreams for a hospital for expecting mothers, of his plans for a shipping and trading company based wherever they decided to build their future.

“Your mother will be here tomorrow,” he said a week into her convalescence.

“You wrote to her?”

“I did.”

“And did you tell her about the betrothal?”

“What betrothal, Violet? I will not demand that you marry me. Only that you love me. I thought I had been very clear on that subject.”

A smile quirked up the side of Violet’s mouth. “I know,” she said. “You were transparently clear. That’s why I’m asking you. I know it’s not how things are normally done, but Lord Alistair Crawford, would you do me the great honor of marrying me?”

She’d been tossing around the idea of marriage all week in her mind. Once the pressure had been removed, she could imagine it differently. Marriage wasn’t a heavy weight around her neck; it was a future with the man she loved. A future in which both of them could be happy and chase their dreams.

Alistair’s smile was more than she could have hoped for. “As I told you, my love, I’ll be by your side however you’ll have me.”

“Like a barnacle.”

“Exactly.”

“Mother will be thrilled.”

“And why shouldn’t she be? I will make an excellent husband.”

“You, my love,” Violet said. “Are an asshead.”

Alistair stood and closed the door to the bedchamber before he eased his long body down next to hers.

“What did you call me?” he asked, his finger playing at the edge of her matronly nightgown.

“An asshead,” Violet said, and her laugh quickly turned into a moan as his fingers deftly found and cupped her breast beneath the copious fabric.

“Are you feeling much better? Because the household is asleep. And if your mother arrives on the morrow—”

Violet pulled him closer to her. “She’ll want to sit by my bedside and monopolize my time.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Then you better kiss me now.”

“If that’s what you want, Violet.” His head dipped down to hers. “I’ll always give you whatever you want.”

His tongue played with her lips, and her body answered as it always did. Heat pooling in her belly, shivers vaulting up her spine. But now love swelled in her heart too, and peace flooded her mind.

“Day and night, my love,” he murmured. “Until you tire of me and force me to leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” she said and slipped her hands inside his linen shirt. He was dressed in only his short sleeves, so her fingers could easily find the flat of his nipple and squeeze. “I want you here.”

“Where?” he asked.

“You know where.”

“Violet,” he said, lifting his head and examining her. “Do you like this nightgown?”

Violet glanced down at the high-necked, buttoned up garment. “Not particularly. Why?”

His hands reached for the two edges of it. “Because I’ve wanted to do this ever since Somerville’s dinner.”

He ripped, grinning at the sound of all those tiny buttons hitting the ground.

“Goodbye buttons,” Violet whispered.

“Good riddance buttons.” Alistair slid his hand down between her legs, where she was already hot and wet and ready for him.

“Mmmm,” she whispered. “There.” She bucked her hips against him. “There.”

He pulled himself back to examine her plump, luscious legs and wide hips.

“Hello, beautiful,” he murmured and moved down her body in search of her ankle bone. He’d missed it.

“I have something for you,” he said between kisses as he worked his way up the length of her leg to her aching core. There he licked and sucked and made her come.

It was delicious but not what she wanted. Or not all of it.

“I want you,” she said. “I want you inside me, Alistair.”

He crawled back up the length of her and cupped her flushed cheek in his hand. “I haven’t a French letter, my love. You’ll have to make do with my fingers.” He lightly swept the sensitive nerves of her with his fingertips. “And my tongue.” He deftly nuzzled the tender crook of her neck.

“You are my betrothed, are you not?”

“I am.”

“And you will stay with me until the end of time?”

“I will.”

“Then put yourself inside me. I’m in the mood for copulation.”

“As you wish,” he said and practically ripped his own trousers off in an effort to remove them from his body.

Violet gasped as he slid himself into her. It felt for all the world like coming home.