Devil narrowed his eyes. "It's possibly more accurate to say our instincts are less flexible. We're both heads of our houses, both raised to protect all that's ours — and we've both been raised knowing others are depending on us to do just that."
She thought, then inclined her head. Then she smiled, turned into his arms, unsurprised when they immediately slid around her. Drawing his head to hers, she murmured, "So… does that mean I rule you?"
His lips, an inch from hers, curved wickedly. "That's the only mitigating factor. Love may rule me, but only because it also rules you."
Honoria closed the distance, set her lips to his, then let him take as he wished — she didn't care as long as that power still ruled, as long as love was there between them.
The essence of the present, an echo from the past, and a never-ending promise for forever.
The Calverton coach paused at the main gates of the Place, then rolled through, turning left onto the road that would eventually lead to Huntingdon. From there, they would head northwest through Thrapston and Corby, along decent roads. Lyddington lay north of Corby; Calverton Chase lay to the west of the small village.
Amelia had traveled the same road many times on visits to Calverton Chase. She assumed some of the anticipation gripping her was because the well-known destination had, mere hours ago, become her home.
The rest — the bulk — of that anticipation could be attributed to the Chase's owner. Luc sat beside her; anyone viewing him would think him relaxed. She knew better. She could feel the tension holding him, locked tight, a brittle net striving to contain some useable power.
She hadn't heard all of Devil's words, hadn't understood what she'd caught. The exchange had distracted Luc, left him thinking, far away…
Grasping his sleeve, she shook. "Did Devil guess?"
Luc turned his head and looked at her; his expression remained blank. "Guess?"
"That we arranged our marriage — that money was at the heart of it."
He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. "No." Resting his head against the squabs, he studied her; the light in the carriage wasn't strong enough for her to read his eyes. "He didn't guess that."
"What was he talking about, then?"
Luc hesitated, then answered, "Just the usual saber rattling your cousins enjoy. Nothing of any concern."
He paused, wondering if, given his state, given the brutal desire riding him, he dared touch her, then he reached out with one hand and cradled her jaw, savoring the delicate curve. Battling the impulse to seize — reminding himself she was already his.
Sliding his fingers farther, he curved them about her nape and drew her to him. Bent his head and brought her lips to his.
And kissed her.
Fought to hide the shudder of awareness that racked him when she offered her mouth, when she sank against him.
Succeeded well enough — grappled and clawed and hung on to enough control to keep the kiss light. To draw back, lift his head, touch his lips to her forehead. "If you're not tired — worn down with smiling, laughing, and playing the delighted bride — you ought to be."
She looked up, met his eyes, smiled.
Before he could think — reconsider — before she could speak, he murmured, "Thank you."
Her smile filled her eyes with a light — a simple joy and delight — he longed to drown in. "It went very well, I think." She spread one small hand on his chest. "It was just as I wanted it — not fussy or elaborate, but simple."
To him, there'd been nothing simple about it. He made himself return her smile. "I'm happy if you are."
She stretched up to touch her lips to his. "I am."
The feel of her in his arms, the look in her eyes… he glanced across at the green fields rolling past. Drew in a breath. "We've close to another four hours of this. We should be there by seven."
Looking down, he met her eyes, then bent his head and kissed them closed. "Rest." Lowering his voice, he murmured, "The entire staff will be waiting to greet us when we arrive, and they'll have dinner waiting."
He was reminding himself more than her, but she nodded, and, eyes obediently closed, settled her head on his chest, in the curve of his shoulder. The simple acceptance of his edict went some way to appeasing his more primitive self — that self he was becoming increasingly familiar with the more time he spent around her.
Leaning back, settling her in his arms, feeling her body ease against his, he ruthlessly focused on the argument that having her well rested on their wedding night was preferable to the alternative. Preferable to having her now.
She must truly have been as worn-out as he'd suggested; she fell into a dozing slumber within a mile.