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If firm respect can merit claim,

And amorous passion true,

Oh! Let them plead to thee, fair dame,

For these I feel for you.

The New Ladies’ Valentine Writer (1821)

I t had been hard to listen to Harriet’s confessions, to imagine her with other men, to picture the pain she had suffered and the mistakes she had made. But now, standing here with her in his arms, he realized something vital—she had finally let him in.

She had not forced him to hear these hard truths from others, had not let him stumble upon them by accident. Instead, she had revealed them herself, laying her soul bare before him, trusting him with her deepest regrets.

And his very soul broke apart. Then reformed into something more resilient. Stronger.

Desire crashed into him, raw and unrelenting.

This time, when he kissed her, the depth of his passion was shocking even to himself. He pulled her hard against him, as if he could fuse them together, erase the years of separation and hurt.

The swell of her breasts pressed against his chest, her curves soft and yielding beneath his grip. Her hips nudged against his loins, sending fire through his veins, burning away all hesitation, all doubt.

He wanted her—had always wanted her—but this was different. This was need, aching and primal, fueled not just by desire but by everything that had come before.

His hands skimmed down her back, molding her to him, and when she moaned softly into his mouth, he lost the last of his control.

Sebastian had never kissed her like this before.

Not even when they had been young and reckless, tangled in stolen moments of passion.

Not even when he had held her in the dark, whispering his devotion against her skin.

His declarations were wild. Untamed.

Their lips clashed, parted, rejoined—breathless, desperate. Teeth scraped, tongues tangled, their shared hunger consuming them both. There was no more past, no more pain, no more regret. Only this moment. Only each other.

His hands roved over her, grasping the fine wool of her navy walking dress as if he could burn through it with sheer will alone. He could feel her body beneath—the swell of her hips, the arch of her back, the soft resistance of her stays binding her tightly.

It had to go. All of it.

With an impatient growl, he grasped the fitted bodice, fingers seeking out the row of tiny buttons. She shuddered under his touch, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she gripped his greatcoat and tried to drag it from his shoulders. The heavy wool refused to yield, caught against his broad frame.

“Off,” she muttered between fevered kisses, tugging insistently.

With a hoarse chuckle, he tore his mouth from hers just long enough to shrug free of the greatcoat and coat beneath, sending them tumbling to the floor in a heap. She immediately attacked his waistcoat, nimble fingers sliding over the buttons, fumbling in her haste.

Sebastian had no such patience.

His own hands swept to her back, finding the row of fastenings running the length of her bodice. A series of pearly buttons, tiny and damnably intricate. He gritted his teeth, breathing against her throat as he worked through them, releasing one after another.

As he freed the last, the fabric slackened, slipping away from her shoulders.

Harriet let out a soft moan as he slid the gown down her arms, his gaze intent as the rich navy wool pooled at her feet.

She stood before him now in her petticoats, her chemise whispering against the fine linen of her stays, and the sight stole what little breath remained in his lungs.

He wanted to take his time. He wanted to soak this into his very being. But she had other ideas. Her fingers found the fall of his buckskin breeches, tugging at the buttons with a heated determination that nearly undid him. His hand covered hers, stilling her movements.

“Patience,” he rasped. “I want this to last.”

She made a sound of protest as he cupped her waist, his thumbs tracing the curve of her ribs through her stays. Slowly, with aching slowness, he ran his fingers up the boned fabric, feeling her tremble beneath his touch.

A flick of his fingers and the laces at her back loosened. Another tug, and the stays gave way completely.

She gasped as he pulled them from her body, dropping them atop her discarded gown. Her petticoats and chemise followed, the delicate fabric sliding over her hips, the lace-edged hem whispering against the wooden floor.

Sebastian could only stare.

She was exquisite. Last night he could barely make her out, but now she was revealed fully before him.

He had always known it, had always remembered it, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of her standing before him now, bared to his gaze, the golden light of an early winter sunset licking over her flushed skin.

“God above,” he breathed, his voice thick with awe.

Harriet’s fingers trembled as they found his shirt, pushing it over his shoulders, baring the lean muscle beneath.

She had seen him before. Touched him before.

But never like this.

Never with this sense of inevitability, as if the world itself had led them to this moment.

She pressed a kiss to his chest, just above his racing heart, and he let out a ragged groan.

Enough.

He grasped her by the hips, fitting her softness to the hard planes of his body with a low groan of satisfaction. Harriet gasped as his fingers swept the length of her spine, coaxing her closer in a slow, inexorable pull.

She arched beneath his touch, her head falling back, offering herself completely. And Sebastian, undone by the sheer beauty of her surrender, could only hold her tighter, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat, his breath shaking as he whispered against her skin.

“Mine.”

Sebastian slid his arms around her, one beneath her knees and the other cradling her back. She let out a small gasp, her fingers clenching against his bare shoulders, but there was no protest—only the swift rise and fall of her breath, only the way her naked body molded against him.

He had carried her before. Across a dance floor. Onto a horse when she had twisted her ankle years ago. But this moment felt like the axis of his entire existence.

She was light as air in his arms, delicate yet strong, her warmth seeping into him where their bodies touched.

His grip tightened, as if he feared she might dissolve into mist if he did not hold her securely enough.

Harriet gazed up at him, her lips parted, her auburn hair cascading down her back in loose waves where she had mussed it. In the twilight, she was breathtaking.

He crossed the room with measured steps, savoring the way she curled into him, the feel of her uncovered legs against his forearm, the way her fingertips traced over his collarbone as though memorizing him. And then they reached the bed.

Sebastian lowered her tenderly onto the mattress, following her down as he braced himself above her.

The sheets were cool against their heated skin, but she did not seem to notice.

Their world was filled with the scent of each other, the feel of each other, the weight of his body as he hovered over her slight form, caging her in without trapping her, taking in the perfection of her rounded breasts.

His gaze swept over her, trying to etch the sight of her into his soul.

“Harry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with unspoken words.

Her hands reached for him, and with a groan of surrender, he let himself fall into her embrace.

Sebastian’s mouth descended, claiming hers in a deep, consuming kiss.

She met him with equal fervor, her fingers threading through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as she arched beneath him.

Their bodies tangled, pressed so tightly together that he could scarcely tell where he ended and she began.

Her scent—lavender and vanilla—wrapped around him, heady and intoxicating.

He groaned, inhaling deeply as he traced the delicate curve of her throat with his lips, the soft skin yielding beneath his mouth.

He tasted her there, slow and blissful, feeling the way her pulse thrummed wildly against his tongue.

Harriet writhed beneath him, her body a symphony of movement, her breath catching with each languorous stroke of his lips over her collarbone, her shoulder, lower across the bountiful breasts that had fired his dreams as a youth desperate to see them.

To touch them as a lover would. His hands moved, roaming the silken expanse of her, claiming her in a way he had only ever dreamed of.

His name spilled from her lips in a hushed whisper, her voice trembling with need.

Sebastian shuddered, his mastery of self fraying even further as she clung to him.

He wanted to taste every inch of her, suckle on those rosy nipples, taste the sweetness of the essence between her legs, to learn the way her body responded to him, to ensure she understood with every touch, every kiss, that she was his.

And tonight, for the first time, she would truly be his.

His hands slid upward to plump her luscious globes, strumming her nipples with the pads of his thumbs before he lowered his head to swirl his tongue over the pleading peaks, first one, then the other, while Harriet moaned and pressed up into his mouth.

Sebastian rose from the bed, the cool air kissing his heated skin as he stepped back.

Harriet watched him, her lips parted, her breath shallow as he reached down and pulled off his boots, the heavy leather thudding softly onto the carpet.

His fingers made quick work of the fastenings of his buckskins, and with a practiced ease, he pushed them down, along with his small clothes and stockings, until he was bare once more.