Page 16

They lay together, tangled in sheets and sweat and laughter, the room bright with morning even as the day slipped toward dusk.

He propped himself on one elbow and looked down at her, hair wild, eyes gentle.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She smiled, feeling more than all right.

“Better than all right,” she said.

She reached up and traced the faded bruise on his cheek, her touch featherlight. She kissed him, because she could, because she never wanted to stop.

Outside, the house stood as it always had—imposing, cold, full of ghosts. But inside, in this room, it was warm and bright and entirely theirs.

***

Chrissy woke to the sound of her own heart, loud and erratic as a bird trapped in a parlor.

For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was.

The light was too bright, the sheets too fine, and the weight across her waist was heavier and more solid than any coverlet she’d known.

Then Gabriel stirred beside her, nuzzling the bare curve of her hip with the unselfconsciousness of a man who’d made a habit of sleeping tangled up with someone else.

Or, perhaps, a man who had never wanted to, until now.

She tried to keep still, but a giggle escaped her as his breath tickled the sensitive skin at her navel. He looked up, eyes clear and mischievous.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“It would seem so.”

He propped himself up, sheets pooling low across his hips.

Her gaze flickered there and stuck, taking in the broad shoulders, the chest mapped with muscle and the faintest dusting of hair.

She had always thought of him as dangerous, but this close—this naked—he seemed almost vulnerable.

The lines of his face were softer without the armor of cravat and coat; the dimple in his cheek deepened when he grinned, which was often, and almost always at her.

“You’re staring,” he said.

She felt herself flush. “I thought I was allowed.”

He laughed, low and delighted. “You’re allowed anything you like, Chrissy.”

She reached out, tentative, and touched his chest. He shivered—not from cold, but from her.

Emboldened, she let her palm wander, marveling at the texture of him.

The smooth slide over bone, the unexpected resistance of hair at his sternum, the sudden valley where old bruises had faded but not quite disappeared, they all fascinated her.

Gabriel watched her, eyes half-lidded and hungry. He did not rush her, only followed her hand as it traced the line of his rib, then down, to the band of muscle at his abdomen, and lower still.

She hesitated at the sheet, unsure whether to breach that last bit of modesty.

He helped, drawing her hand under the covers. His cock was already hard, thick and impossibly hot beneath her palm.

She curled her fingers around it, shocked at how alive it felt. It pulsed against her grip, and Gabriel groaned, head tipping back.

“Is that all right?” she asked, genuinely concerned.

He caught her wrist and brought her hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the inside. “More than all right,” he said, and then, because he was incapable of resisting a challenge, he added, “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

She grinned, reckless. “You’ve forgotten the letters my grandmother kept.”

He grinned right back, the edge of it sharpening as she stroked him, slow and curious. She watched his face, cataloging every change—the way his lashes fluttered, the muscle in his jaw ticked, the way his breath sped up when she squeezed just so.

She drew back the covers, wanting to see him. He let her, leaning into her touch, utterly unashamed. His cock was beautiful, if such a thing could be, and she marveled at the contrast of it—so smooth, so impossibly sensitive, compared to the rest of him.

She bent, pressed her lips to the head, and tasted salt and heat. Gabriel made a sound so startled and feral that she nearly laughed, but she was too fascinated.

“I read about this, too,” she said, before licking him again.

He caught her hair in one hand, guiding her gently. “You’re going to kill me,” he murmured, voice ragged with disbelief.

She found the rhythm that pleased him best, watching his reactions, greedy for every twitch and gasp. She wanted him to come apart, to know she could do that to him.

He held her off after a minute, hands gentle but insistent. “If you keep doing that, I’ll disgrace myself. I want to be inside you when I come.”

He pulled her up, kissing her with a need that left no doubt as to his intention. He then rolled her onto her back, settling between her thighs. The memory of pain from earlier made her stiffen for a heartbeat, but he sensed it and paused.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

She shook her head, and it was almost true. “Not enough to stop,” she whispered.

He slid inside, careful and slow, and this time she was ready—more than ready. There was pain, yes, but it was dulled by the pleasure of being filled, completed. She wrapped her legs around his waist, greedy for more, and he obliged, driving deeper with every thrust.

The room was filled with the sounds of their bodies, the slap of skin, the staccato of breath, the helpless gasps she couldn’t stifle. Gabriel set a punishing rhythm, sweat slick on his back, his hands braced on either side of her.

He reached down, thumb finding the place where her pleasure spiked, and circled, gentle at first, then rougher as she bucked beneath him.

She came apart, the orgasm crashing through her, blinding and total. She screamed, a sound that shocked even herself.

Gabriel groaned, following her into oblivion, and for a moment they were one thing, not two.

They collapsed together, boneless, both laughing and gasping.

He tucked her under his arm, nuzzling her temple. “I think I love you more every time,” he said, voice dazed.

She kissed his chest, tasting salt and triumph. “I intend to hold you to that.”

They lay together, silent but for the fire and the distant toll of a bell. After a while, Gabriel stroked her hair, lazy and content. “Tell me something,” he said.

“Mmm?”

“Would you like to try everything your grandparents wrote about?”

She smiled against his skin. “I’d like that very much.”

“Then we have our work cut out for us, Duchess.”

She giggled. “I’m not afraid of work.”

He rolled her on top of him, eyes alight with mischief. “Let’s start now,” he said, and she did.

***

They must have drifted off, because the next thing Chrissy knew the fire had reduced itself to a glowing ember, and Gabriel was snoring—softly, but with the dogged persistence of a man who had never before allowed himself the luxury of sleeping through a day.

She lay beside him, her head on his arm and her hand splayed across the naked expanse of his chest. Every part of her ached in ways both anticipated and not, but the pain was softened by the memory of what had caused it.

She shifted, and Gabriel’s arm tightened, pinning her with the possessiveness of a large predatory animal that has just discovered cuddling.

“Are you awake?” she whispered, uncertain whether she wanted to disturb him.

He grunted, and then, with a supreme effort of will, opened one blue eye. “I am now. And I am better for it.”

She laughed, pressing her nose to his shoulder. “Do you always sleep so deeply after…?”

He cracked a smile. “After what? Say it, Chrissy.”

She hid her face, mortified. “After that.”

He rolled, trapping her beneath him. “After making love to my wife? It would see so. Apparently, it is exhausting and delightful in equal measure.” He kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth, then nipped at her ear. “You’re blushing again.”

“I can’t help it. My entire body is on fire.”

“Your entire body is made of desire. And it’s glorious.” He rolled onto his back, pulling her along so she sprawled over him, a blanket of skin and tangled hair.

They lay like that for a while, listening to the quiet of the house—the muffled footsteps of servants in the distant halls, the far-off clang of a bell, the murmur of birds in the tree outside the window.

“Do you want children?” she asked, suddenly, before she could lose her nerve. “I mean, of course an heir, but do you want many children?”

“I should think so. I’ve always wanted a houseful.” He paused, then grinned. “We could start today, if you like.”

She pinched his side, and he yelped.

“I believe we already have,” she chided.

He kissed her again, this time gentle and slow. “I want children. I want a family. I want you, always, Chrissy. I never thought I’d say any of that and mean it. But I do.” He looked at her, sober for once.

She nodded, her throat tight.

He traced a finger along her spine. “You look like a goddess. A very sleepy, very well-loved goddess.”

She snorted. “I’m a mess. My hair?—”

“Is perfect.” He bit her shoulder. “Stay like this. Forever.”

She wriggled down, resting her chin on his chest. They fell into a companionable silence, hands drifting in lazy circles across each other’s skin. Chrissy felt a wave of satisfaction, deeper than any she’d known. “Gabriel?”

“Hm?”

“You will keep teaching me?” Her voice was shy, but her eyes were bright with challenge.

He propped himself on one elbow, looming over her with an expression of pure mischief. “If you’re a willing student, I’ll be the most diligent tutor in England.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to compete with my memory of Grandmama’s letters. Grandpapa was very descriptive.”

“Was he, now?” Gabriel’s hands found her hips, gripping with just enough force to hint at his intent. “Then we shall see who is the better educator.”

He flipped her, so she straddled his lap. She felt his cock stiffening beneath her and smiled, delighted at her own power.

“Am I allowed to be in control?” she asked, experimentally rolling her hips.

He groaned, hands anchoring her in place. “You’re allowed anything, Chrissy. Absolutely anything.”

She leaned forward, kissing him—first his lips, then his throat, then down his body, retracing the path she’d learned earlier. She loved the way he arched into her touch, the way he surrendered to her as easily as he had claimed her.

When she took him inside her, slowly, deliberately, it was less an act of conquest than a gift. She could see how much he needed her, how much it mattered that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

They moved together, finding a rhythm that was equal parts tenderness and hunger. She set the pace, adjusting as she pleased, and Gabriel let her, worshiped her with his hands and his mouth and the dark, reverent things he whispered in her ear.

She came again, harder this time, and when Gabriel followed, the sound he made was so raw and honest it nearly broke her heart.

They collapsed, limbs tangled, both laughing and a little astonished.

“I think I’ll die of happiness,” he said, voice muffled in her hair.

She grinned, wrapping herself around him. “You’re not allowed. You have to show me everything, remember?”

“I will. Everything you want. Forever.”

She believed him.

Later, when he slept, she lay awake, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. She had not expected to love him so much, so quickly. She hadn’t been certain she would love anyone at all, in the way that left her defenseless and full of joy.

She traced his profile in the dim light, memorizing every detail.

She was the luckiest woman in England.

And she would never, ever surrender him.