He picked up his sword, knelt in front of her and laid it in its scabbard across her lap. ‘That is mine. When I was made an officer I had to have a sword, but I could not afford to buy one so I picked this up on the battlefield.’ That explained its plain hilt and the battered scabbard, so unlike his dress sword that gleamed with fancy work and lived in an elegant, unmarked scabbard. ‘This sword has been with me ever since. It has saved my life countless times, it is the symbol of my honour, of what I have made of my life. It is the only possession I would kill to keep.’
Adam laid his right hand on the hilt, took hers in his left hand and placed it on top. ‘I swear, on this sword, that I love you, Rose. I swear that I want to marry you. I swear that I will always be faithful to you and that I want to make my life here in England with you.’
He lifted her hand away and stood up. ‘Now I will leave unless you tell me to stay, tell me you believe me, trust me. That you still love me.’
Rose had learned to read the emotions behind that expression of stoical calm, the carefully controlled hands, the set shoulders. She could not do anything but believe that oath, but she would have followed him to the ends of the earth without it, just for the look in those blue eyes and the betraying twitch of the nerve in the corner of the rigid mouth.
‘Stay, Adam. I believe you and I trust you. I love you, I never stopped loving you and I am so sorry I doubted you.’ There was more, explanations, protestations, but, breathless, she never had a chance to say them. She was on her feet, in his arms and his mouth was on hers, hot and fierce and possessive. Somehow she pulled back. ‘Adam, I swore I would not ask you for marriage.’
‘I am the one doing the asking. I have proposed before and you accepted. Are you going back on your word?’
‘No. How can I, if you want me? I love you too much.’
He narrowed his eyes at her, calculating. ‘Where and when do you want to get married?’
‘Here?’ Yes, that felt right. ‘You do want to keep this estate?’ She could not believe she was saying this, that this was happening.
He nodded slowly. ‘I can see us here. And it is right to marry here, just as soon as your parents are able to come over. Shall we arrange everything for the end of next month?’
‘Oh, yes. Perfect.’
‘If you had pouted at me and demanded a big society wedding in London with months to organise it and arrange your trousseau then I wouldn’t be able to do this.’ He bent and scooped her up into his arms.
‘Adam, it is one o’clock!’
‘Had you invited anyone for luncheon?’ He pushed open the door and strode towards the foot of the stairs. ‘Jane. Your mistress is not at home to callers for the foreseeable future.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Rose caught a glimpse of the maid bobbing a respectful curtsy, quite at odds with the grin on her face.
It seemed futile to protest and, in truth, she had no desire to, only the desire to lie naked in Adam’s arms again and make love with her fierce Devil warrior who had sworn his love on his sword like a knight of ancient chivalry.
He undressed her slowly, letting the long skirts of her riding habit slide into an amber pool at her feet, untying the knot of her stock as though he had all the time in the world, brushing kisses against the tender skin at her nape as he freed her from the short corset she wore for riding.
‘Look at you,’ Adam murmured as he turned her in his arms and let his gaze caress down the naked length of her. He set her on the bed and began to strip, his gaze locked with hers until he was as bare as she.
‘You lost weight, being so sick.’ He stroked his fingertips down her ribs. ‘I must feed you up.’
‘While you never had any spare flesh on you to lose,’ Rose murmured as he came down over her, his lips and tongue exploring the softness between neck and breast. ‘How will you stay so hard and fit when you have no battles to fight?’
‘You’ll have to exercise me a lot,’ he muttered and took her nipple between his teeth, making her gasp and arch up against him.
‘It makes a difference, knowing we are to be married.’ Rose cradled his head between her palms as he shifted down her body, his tongue sliding over her ribs, working wicked magic.
‘It does?’ Adam lifted his head. ‘More respectable, less exciting?’
‘More serious. This is for ever. And more joyous—because it is for ever. I was always saying goodbye to you in my thoughts and now…Adam.’
He slid down between her parted legs and spread her wide for his scrutiny. ‘You were talking about joy, my love?’ His mouth, his lips, his tongue, took her and tormented her and worshipped the quivering, aching flesh of her until there was nothing but him and a single point of sensation and then an explosion of feeling that wrenched his name from her lips, over and over again.
When she came to herself Adam had come up her body and slid into her, filling her as he lay still and patient, waiting for her to rejoin him.
‘I love you,’ he said as he began to move and she shifted, curled her legs around his hips so he could plunge as deeply as possible into her heat, surging with the movement of his body as he drove them both into a tightening spiral of sensation. It broke in a shuddering fulfilment that seemed to reach the core of her and she felt Adam break, too, as she did, her name breaking from his throat in a cry of primal possession that somehow sent her over into another paroxysm of pleasure, her body pulsing around him.
*
‘Adam, wake up.’ A sharp finger prodded him in the ribs.
Flint opened one eye. ‘Again?’ he enquired. His body, against all reason, greeted the question with enthusiasm.