He could never love another woman again.
Not after this. Not as long as Lucy walked the same earth. There could be no one else.
It was terrifying, this precipice. Terrifying, and thrilling, and—
He jumped.
She let out a little gasp as he pushed forward, but when he looked down at her, she did not seem to be in pain. Her head was thrown back, and each breath was accompanied by a little moan, as if she could not quite keep her desire inside.
Her legs wrapped around his, feet running down the length of his calves. And her hips were arching, pressing, begging him to continue.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, every muscle in his body straining to move forward. He had never wanted anything the way he wanted her in that moment. And yet he had never felt less greedy. This had to be for her. He could not hurt her.
“You’re not,” she groaned, and then he couldn’t help himself.
He captured her breast in his mouth as he pushed through her final barrier, embedding himself fully within her.
If she’d felt pain, she didn’t care. She let out a quiet shriek of pleasure, and her hands grabbed wildly at his head. She writhed beneath him, and when he attempted to move to her other breast, her fingers grew merciless, holding him in place with a ferocious intensity.
And all the while, his body claiming her, moving in a rhythm that was beyond thought or control.
“Lucy Lucy Lucy,” he moaned, finally tearing himself away from her breast. It was too hard. It was too much. He needed room to breathe, to gasp, to suck in the air that never quite seemed to make it to his lungs.
“Lucy!”
He should wait. He was trying to wait. But she was grabbing at him, digging her nails into his shoulders, and her body was arching off the bed with enough strength to lift him as well.
And then he felt her. Tensing, squeezing, shuddering around him, and he let go.
He let go, and the world quite simply exploded.
“I love you,” he gasped as he collapsed atop her. He’d thought himself beyond words, but there they were.
They were his companion now. Three little words.
I love you.
He would never be without them.
And that was a splendid thing.
Twenty
In which Our Hero has a very bad morning.
Sometime later, after sleep, and then more passion, and then not quite sleep, but a peaceful quiet and stillness, and then more passion—because they just could not help themselves—it was time for Gregory to go.
It was the most difficult thing he had ever done, and yet he was still able to do it with joy in his heart because he knew that this was not the end. It was not even goodbye; it was nothing so permanent as that. But the hour was growing dangerous. Dawn would arrive shortly, and while he had every intention of marrying Lucy as soon as he could manage it, he would not put her through the shame of being caught in bed with him on the morning of her wedding to another man.
There was also Haselby to consider. Gregory did not know him well, but he had always seemed an affable fellow and did not deserve the public humiliation that would follow.
“Lucy,” Gregory whispered, nudging her cheek with his nose, “it is near to morning.”
She made a sleepy sound, then turned her head. “Yes,” she said. Just Yes, not It’s all so unfair or It shouldn’t have to be this way. But that was Lucy. She was pragmatic and prudent and charmingly reasonable, and he loved her for all that and more. She didn’t want to change the world. She just wanted to make it lovely and wonderful for the people she loved.
The fact that she had done this—that she had let him make love to her and was planning to call off her wedding now, the very morning of the ceremony—it only showed him how deeply she cared for him. Lucy didn’t look for attention and drama. She craved stability and routine, and for her to make the leap she was preparing for—
It humbled him.