Page 79 of My Darling Mr. Darling
Violet lifted one finger to her lips. “Davis is a light sleeper,” she said, her voice pitched low. “And he gets so crabby when woken prematurely.” She closed her book, sliding it onto the bedside table, slipping one arm beneath her to lay her cheek in her palm. “Butdotell me your justification. I’m certain I’ll be enthralled.” With her free hand, she patted the mattress in invitation.
He stepped lightly, cognizant of the report of his heels upon the floor. “I can’t tell you just yet. It was meant to be a surprise.” The mattress depressed beneath his weight, and she stretched out her hand to sift her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’ll find out soon,” he said. “Am I invited to stay the night?”
“Youdidpick the lock. Eventually.” She came up onto her knees, pressing her lips to his cheek. With one hand she deftly plucked free the knot of his cravat, pulling the fabric away from his throat. “I suppose such diligence ought to be rewarded.”
“You’re too generous.” It came out in the same arch, sardonic tone that she had employed, but it was true nonetheless. He caught her hips in his hands, lifted her to straddle his lap. “I do mean that,” he said, anchoring her in place with one arm around her waist. With his other hand, he brushed her hair back over her shoulder and cupped her cheek.
Doubt flickered across her face, and her lashes swept down to shade her eyes. “I’m not,” she said, her throat working in a taut swallow, and her fingertips walked up his chest, fiddling with the buttons of his waistcoat. “I have often behaved very poorly. Some things I’m rather proud of…and some shame me still.”
He opened his mouth to tell her that she had done nothing for which she ought to feel ashamed, but she laid her fingers across his lips and pressed on. “I need you to love me anyway,” she said. “Despite those…shameful things I have done. I will love you for the rest of my life, with the whole of my heart. I need you to love me the same way.”
“Ah, Vi. I don’t love you inspiteof those things. I love youbecauseof them.” And while she made anxious little sounds of disbelief, he slid his fingers into her hair, cupped the back of her head, and pulled her down for a kiss. “If you had done different things, made different choices, you wouldn’t be the Violet I love so well.” He felt her shoulders tremble, felt her go lax with relief, wilting against his chest. “Besides,” he murmured into her mouth, “I rather like you badly behaved.”
She made a choked sound—almost a sob—and her lips clung to his as she wrestled buttons free of their loops, divesting him of his waistcoat in quick, jerky motions. “I love you,” she gasped as she tugged his shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers. “I love you—and I want to come home and be your wife.”
“You’re already my wife,” he said, and winced when she threw his waistcoat aside and the brass buttons clattered against the wood of the floor. He relaxed once more when it became clear that the sound hadn’t brought anyone—particularly Davis—running to investigate, and decided he rather liked the zeal with which she attempted to strip him of his clothing.
“But I want to be arealone,” she said, and his shirt went the way of his waistcoat, though it had the grace to hit the floor more or less soundlessly. “I want to have dinner together every evening—”
“We’ll have family dinners with the duchess at least once a week, or she’ll fuss something dreadful,” he interjected as she attacked his trousers.
“—and I want to share your bed—”
“Agreed. Wholeheartedly.” And then, as she struggled with his trousers: “My boots have got to come off first, Vi.”
“—and I want children, John. I wantsucha big family.” She managed to wrestle off first his right boot and then his left, though the effort such a task required sent her sliding back across the floor in a sprawl of smooth, bare limbs. She let his boot drop to the floor with athunk, and he shoved his trousers and smallclothes off as she righted herself.
“There are no guarantees as far as children are concerned,” he said, his voice dropping a full octave as she climbed back over him, the silky slide of her skin on his evoking a shudder. “Though I can promise you I’ll give it every effort.” Starting immediately.Soonerthan immediately. “But, Vi—even if we are never so blessed, youhaveafamily. The same one I do. And they will love you without condition, just as I do.” Her skin was so soft beneath his fingers, so warm—like heated satin, everywhere her flesh touched his.
He bit back a groan as she braced herself with her hands on his shoulders, rose up on her knees, and sank down over him, her velvety inner flesh engulfing him in the tight, wet grip of her body. What had he done in his life to deserve this, to deserveher?
“You loved me,” she said, and he realized he had spoken it aloud. “You loved me when I was unlovable, even to myself.” A passion-flush spread across her throat, and she threw her head back, the ends of her hair tickling his thighs. She moved in slow, delicate rises and falls, tormenting him without satisfying. And by the mischievous grin that played about the corners of her mouth, she knew it full well. His fingers clenched on her hips as he arched against her in an effort to force her to take him deeper. His heart thundered; his chest tightened against the sounds that threatened to break free from his throat.
“John,” Violet whispered, clutching a fistful of his hair as she gave a particularly stirring snap of her hips. “I have a tiny confession to make.”
“Hm?” It emerged a rough exhalation; he could concentrate only on the lush roundness of her breasts, the rhythm of her hips.
“I lied. Davis sleeps like the dead.”
It took a solid ten seconds for the statement to penetrate his lust-fogged brain. His jaw slacked; his fingers loosed on her hips. “Thank God,” he said in a guttural growl, and threw her to her back. She arched to meet him as he fell over her, embracing him with the whole of her body. They moved in a sinuous dance, breathless with passion, kisses following kisses, tender strokes and soft touches exchanged in the quiet of night.
He could hear her need in the whisper of her breath across her lips, feel it in the tight clasp of her thighs around his hips, in the wicked undulations of her body beneath his. Her nails prickled against his skin as her head tossed on the pillow, gasps of pleasure breaking from her throat as he drove them feverishly toward satisfaction.
It found them together, bursting like a storm cloud into a soft, gentle rain of fulfillment. It wasn’t just the peace of his body that settled over him as they dissolved into a lax tangle of limbs, awash in the afterglow of spent desire. It was the peace of his soul, his heart—which beat to the rhythm of Violet’s. Her fingers interlocked with his as her head notched itself beneath his chin, and he marveled how well they fit, how neatly.
Perhaps the broken pieces of their hearts had fit together exactly the same way. In the right ways, at the right angles, complete and whole once more—crucial missing pieces at last returned.
“Thank you,” she whispered against his throat, “for giving me…everything.”
That had been no hardship. She deserved everything he had to give and more. His arm settled about her waist, and he murmured to her, “Always. I want everything for you.”
When the sweat had cooled from their bodies, and he dragged up the covers to insulate the both of them from the growing chill, she turned over to puff out the candle, plunging the room into darkness save for the dying light of the fire.
As she snuggled deeper into his embrace, he asked, “You don’t need the candle?”
Her fingers tapped out a soft rhythm on his chest. “I think,” she said softly, “what I was most afraid of wasn’t the dark so much as it was being alone.” Her breath emerged on a soft sigh, feathering against his chin. “But now I have something so much better than a candle.” Her palm flattened against his chest, right over his heart. “I have you to hold my hand through the darkness.”
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