To want.
Beyond words, beyond description.
Gasping, nearly blind, they tumbled onto clean sheets, onto a thick mattress that cushioned and cradled, amid pillows that tumbled around them.
She spread her thighs, clasped his flanks; he rose over her, reached between them and cupped, caressed, and she cried out.
Shifting, he bent his head, captured her lips, took her mouth, then with one powerful thrust joined with her.
Whirled them into the familiar dance.
Familiar, yet different.
Acceptance, a knowing; closeness, a giving. The moments spun out, spiraled, stretched.
Together they strove, together they gloried.
They reached the familiar peak and clung…until ecstasy shattered them, fractured them, fused them—left them floating, drifting as one, exquisite satiation flowing through their veins, the slowing thunder of their pulses a soothing rhythm in their ears.
With love, simple and pure, a shining magnificence filling both their hearts.
Dawn broke; about them, the castle awoke. Slumped amid the tangled covers of his bed, they slept on.
The sun was slanting in through the windows when Gervase awoke.
Even before he opened his eyes, even before his mind engaged, he knew. At some primal level he recognized, not just the warm body lying half over him, her breast pressed to his chest, his arm cradling her, her long legs tangled with his, but what had changed.
What had lent their familiar landscape that gilded edge.
His lips were curving even before he opened his eyes. He glanced at her, at the jumbled tumble of rippling locks that screened her face. Felt her stirring, as if sensing his wakefulness, she was waking, too.
Then awareness reinfused her limbs. Raising a hand, she brushed her hair out of her face and glanced up.
He smiled—at her, into her eyes. He couldn’t recall ever feeling so joyous, let alone letting it so blatantly show.
Puzzled, she searched his eyes. “What?”
His smile only deepened. He looked up at the canopy to hide any smugness in his grin. “You’re going to marry me.”
She didn’t immediately reply. He glanced down—and saw it was taking her a moment to assemble a frown. She managed one, of faint disgruntlement rather than anger, and directed it at him. “Why do you think that? I haven’t agreed to accept any offer, nor have you made one, if you recall.”
His grin returned. “I know. But I will, and you will. You’ve made your decision. You’ve made up your mind.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t know that.”
Holding her gaze, he smiled, a softer gesture. Lifting one hand, he smoothed back her hair, but kept his eyes on hers. “I do know. You’re in my bed. Naked in the Earl of Crowhurst’s bed where only countesses of Crowhurst have ever lain.”
Arching her brows, she struggled up; leaning on his chest, she made a show of looking around the large room.
He laughed, rocking her; he closed his arms loosely around her. “You knew that last night when we came in. You didn’t bother mentioning it because in your mind it no longer mattered.”
When she looked back at him, he tightened his arms in a gentle hug. “And you were right. You belong here. In this room, in this bed, with me. This is where you should—and will—spend your nights for the rest of your life. Here, with me.”
She continued to look at him as if uncertain how to deal with him, with his sudden and absolute knowledge.
He arched a brow and tried for a vulnerable expression and tone—not easy at the best of times. “Am I wrong?”
Entirely unintentionally Madeline laughed. Still trying to narrow her eyes at him, and failing, she pushed back from his chest to flop on her back beside him, so she could stare at the canopy, too. “I do hope this isn’t going to be a habit of yours—being so disgustingly all-knowing.”