There was something in his soft declaration, about the way he waited for her, his patience, that shattered the cold knot of doubt inside her. “I love you, too, so desperately, but—”
“There is no but.” His mien was implacable, and the awareness that this man would not let her go weakened her knees.
“We’ll never have a child.”
“I know.”
She shook her head, dazed at the intensity of the emotions twisting through her. “There will be no heir.”
“I have a cousin, and he has sons for when the need arises.”
“There’ll be no sons or daughters, no sweet and unfettered laughter echoing along these hallways for us.”
“I know.” Then there was a thick, heavy silence that echoed with so many questions…and with hope.
“And I still want you forever, Lily.” He kissed her, a mere brush of his lips over her, softly brushing away her tears with his thumb. “I am nothing without you in my life, my sweet.”
The tight, wonderful ache in her chest threatened to consume her. “Oliver…” she murmured wonderingly.
He met her eyes with a steady stare. “I see you are beginning to understand,” he murmured.
And she did. There was no disappointment in the gaze peering at her, no bitterness, or betrayal. Only a desperate hope that he would not lose her, and a love so powerful she almost sank to her knees and wept her relief. This man saw her with all her flaws and adored her despite them.
“I’m sorry. I’ll never doubt you again,” she whispered, unable to stop the tears, not wanting to stop the hot trails as they washed away the crippling doubt that had held her for too long. “I love you, so much, Oliver.”
He kissed her again, and again, and again.
A storm of sensations washed over her senses. His lips moved from hers and began spreading a line of kisses over her jaw and down her neck. She held him to her, feeling safe, loved, the tearing emotions ebbing. They undressed, and he never stopped kissing her. Over her brows, her cheeks, then her lips again, sometimes rough, sometimes tender. She felt lost in a sea of bliss and arousal, a soft gasp escaping Lily as he lowered her to the bed and covered her body with his like a warm, sensual blanket.
“I love you, Lily,” he murmured, his lips barely brushing against hers.
She could only stare up at him, lost in the intensity of his gaze. Lily lifted so very slightly and licked along the seam of his mouth. A fleeting smile touched his lips before he ravaged. He wasn’t rough. In fact, her love was gentle, yet his touch and every kiss was filled with fiery passion. He trailed his lips down, kissing soft globes of her breasts before licking the hardened tips of her nipples, drawing an eager moan from her throat. Heat raced through her veins and settled into the throbbing heart of her. “Oliver!”
He took his maddening kisses down to her stomach, where he lingered. A lump formed in her throat, and warmth blasted through her. She wasn’t frozen with fear at the wonderful and telling caress, only pure need, and she arched her hips in instinctive want. His tongue dipped into her navel, a quick flick before a lingering kiss. She savored the moment, and the love and acceptance he seemed to be communicating with his touch.
He went lower, and teeth nipped along her the insides of her thighs, followed by the tender ministrations of his lips. For a moment, she could barely breathe with wanting him in her, soothing the ache. Then he was there, but with his wicked tongue, which slid through the tender folds of her pussy with erotic precision. She wailed as pleasure knifed through her. He rose, his face heavy with desire, nudged her legs apart, then positioned himself and slid deep into the heart of her.
Oliver loved her with slow, easy strokes, gradually thrusting deeper over and over. Her hips arched, her hands ran down his sweat-slicked back to cup his buttocks, pulling him deeper into the heart of her.
“Without your love, I am incomplete,” she gasped tenderly.
A powerful need flared in his eyes, and he bent his head to brush his mouth along her temple then down to her lips, which he claimed in a deep kiss.
It could have been hours later, or a few minutes, but they were locked in a passion that had only room for the love they had for each other. When Lily climaxed, it was a gentle crash but deeply satisfying. With a groan, her love reached his pleasure right after.
Her fingers brushed his face. He pressed his brow against hers for a few seconds before rolling onto his back, taking her with him and tucking her into his side. She yawned, quite indelicately, burrowed into her marquess, and as the comfort of sleep claimed her, Lily knew she could never be happier.
Epilogue
Eight months later…
Lily felt as if she were dying. She was bent over the washbasin in her chamber, heaving. She had been feeling poorly this week, and it seemed the dreadful distemper of the stomach would not ease. Her love shifted her hair, which clung damply to her nape, and pressed a cool cloth against her forehead.
“Do you still want to cast up?” Oliver murmured, his eyes dark with worry.
“No, the feeling has abated, but I do feel tired.”
He handed her a glass of water, and she gently rinsed. The maid that had been hovering hurried over and took the washcloth and basin away. Oliver lifted Lily with effortless grace and placed her in the center of their bed. The fire from the hearth blazed, providing much-needed warmth. Still, she shivered and tugged the sheets over her body.