He needed no further reassurance, no evidence beyond the tight clasp of her body, the supple writhing of her naked curves beneath him.
But he’d always wanted more, and she’d given without him asking.
Not just her body, but this—an unfettered commitment to him, to her, to what lay between them.
It rose up in a tide, impossible to control. It rolled over them both, crashed, swirled, made them gasp, cling. Fight for air. Fight for their hold on life, then lose it as brilliance swamped them, as their bodies clutched, clung, shuddered.
He spilled his seed deep within her, held tight, immobile, as ecstasy drenched them.
Filled them, sank deep, then slowly ebbed and faded.
He let go, felt his muscles relax, let her hold him, cradle him, his forehead bowed to hers.
Wrapped together, lips brushing, together they surrendered to their fate.
She stayed for hours. Few words were spoken. There was no need between them to explain; neither needed nor wanted inadequate words to intrude.
He’d restoked the fire. Slumped in an armchair before it with her curled in his lap, still naked, with her cloak thrown over her to keep her warm, his arms beneath it, his hands on her bare skin, her hair like wild silk clinging to them both…he would have happily remained so forever.
He glanced down at her. The firelight gilded her face. It had earlier gilded her body when she’d stood unabashed before the flames and let him examine each curve, each line. This time, he’d left her largely unmarked; only the imprints of his fingers at her hip where he’d anchored her were visible.
Leonora looked up, caught his eye, smiled, then laid her head back on his shoulder. Under her palm, spread across his bare chest, his heart beat steadily. The beat echoed in her blood. Throughout her body.
Closeness wrapped them about, linked them in a way she couldn’t define, certainly hadn’t expected.
He hadn’t either, yet they’d both accepted it.
Once accepted, it couldn’t be denied.
It had to be love, but who was she to say? All she knew was that for her it was immutable. Unchanging, fixed, and forever.
Whatever the future held—marriage, family, dependents, and all—she would have that, that strength, to call on.
It felt right. More right than she’d imagined anything could feel.
She was where she belonged. In his arms. With love between them.
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, Leonora breezed down to the breakfast parlor somewhat later than usual; she was normally the first of the family up and about, but this morning she’d slept in. With a definite spring in her step and a smile on her lips, she swept over the threshold—and came to an abrupt halt.
Tristan sat beside Humphrey, listening intently while calmly demolishing a plate of ham and sausages.
Jeremy sat opposite; all three men looked up, then Tristan and Jeremy rose.
Humphrey beamed at her. “Well, my dear! Congratulations! Tristan has told us your news. I have to say I’m utterly delighted!”
“Indeed, sis. Congratulations.” Leaning over the table, Jeremy caught her hand and drew her across to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Excellent choice,” he murmured.
Her smile became a trifle fixed. “Thank you.”
She looked at Tristan, expecting to see some degree of apology. Instead, he met her gaze with a steady, assured—confident—expression. She took due note of that last, inclined her head. “Good morning.”
The “my lord” stuck in her throat. She would not soon forget his notion of an appropriate finale to their reconciliation the previous evening. Later, he’d dressed her, then carried her out to the carriage, overridden her by then thoroughly weak protest, and accompanied her to Montrose Place, leaving her in the tiny parlor of Number 12 while he collected Henrietta, then escorting them both to her front door.
Suavely, he took her hand, raised it briefly to his lips, then held her chair for her. “I trust you slept well?”
She glanced at him as he resumed his seat beside her. “Like one dead.”