Chapter Thirty-Seven
“D o you think they mind that we’re gone?” Lady Glenraven asked as they walked through the garden and out the gate to their enchanted cottage.
“Not at all, my lady. They would wonder if we weren’t.” He smiled one of those smiles that could charm a bird off a tree.
Ewan retrieved the key from Artemis, and they entered the cottage. A large bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine were on the table next to a hamper.
He opened the wine and poured them each a glass. “To Punch and Judy.” He raised his glass.
“Yes, to Punch and Judy,” she laughed as they sipped their wine cuddled on the sofa.
“Until now, our efforts have been centered on safeguarding one another.” He paused, his gaze meeting hers with true curiosity, “We haven’t spoken about what we want for ourselves, for our own future. What are your hopes and dreams?”
Juliet’s eyes met his, and in them, she saw the spark of shared aspirations. “A home filled with laughter and warmth,” her words were a breathy echo in the hushed space. “Children, perhaps, running through the gardens without the worry of the world beyond these walls.”
Silence settled between them, the air thick with unspoken dreams and hopes. Finally, Juliet tilted her head, her smile soft and tender. “You have a way of making the ordinary feel extraordinary.”
Glenraven raised an eyebrow playfully as he refilled her glass with wine. “Juliet, in your presence, even this humble wine seems as though it should be savored in a royal chalice.” His tone was light, the corners of his mouth twitching with the hint of a smile.
Juliet sipped her wine, the rich aroma complementing the bouquet of scents from the garden that filled the room. She let the silence stretch between them, a comfortable lull in their conversation. “Ewan, I’ve always admired the loyalty and friendship between men.” Her gaze met his, reflecting the flickering candlelight.
Juliet nestled against Glenraven’s shoulder with ease. Their conversation flowed naturally, meandering like the garden paths outside. They spoke of their favorite books, revealing a shared love for the classics and an appreciation for poetry that surprised them both. They discussed the changing seasons and how each preferred the crispness of autumn to the heat of summer. Glenraven expressed an interest in horticulture, which Juliet matched with her fondness for painting. She confessed a desire to capture the beauty of the summerhouse garden on canvas. They even touched upon lighter subjects, such as childhood escapades, how he played chess with his cousin, and the simple pleasures of a well-brewed cup of tea.
She lifted her head and caught her breath as his smile danced across his lips. More than charm and confidence, she saw his promise of passionate encounters and thrilling adventures.
“I thought you were beautiful when you approached me in the chapel. You were even more radiant this evening.”
She closed her eyes as his deep, rich voice flowed over her. He awakened a deep longing in her, a craving so fierce that she forgot all caution and restraint.
“But now—”
She reached up and kissed his lips softly, tentatively not allowing him to finish what he was saying. Hesitantly, she broke the kiss. Their eyes connected, holding for a moment that went on and on.
He stared at her eyes and hair, but when he focused on her lips, he pulled her close and claimed them. His kiss, first tender and sweet, grew more demanding.
She was lost to the storm, to sensations she had never experienced, sensations to which she surrendered and hoped he wouldn’t stop.
He drew back slowly, the warmth of their kiss lingering as their lips parted. A soft sigh filled the space between them, a silent echo of their tenderness.
“I’ll be your Abigail, Madame.” His voice was deep and husky, and he pulled out one of her hairpins.
She glanced at his eyes and saw the laughter and couldn’t help but laugh with him. “Then I must be your valet, my lord.” The twinkle in her eye had him chuckling.
He gently lifted the circlet from her hair and placed it on the nearby table. Then, one by one, he removed the rest of her hairpins, letting them scatter without concern. Once her hair fell loose, he ran his fingers through the soft strands, massaging her scalp with a soothing rhythm.
Her eyes closed in response, a serene smile spreading across her face. He was captivated by the simple joy that played upon her features.
He stepped closer to her, her chest nearly against his, reached around, and pulled the bow loose at the top of her gown.
Her eyes flew open. She stared at him for a heartbeat as the corners of her lips tipped up. She undid his cravat and then his waistcoat. He didn’t move. Her fingers worked unbuttoning his shirt. After she pulled the linen back over his shoulders and helped him shrug out of it, she ran her fingers down his chest.
“Your gown, my lady. It’s a beautiful shade of green.” He unlaced the ribbon as she held the bodice in place. When he had the ribbon free, he tossed it to the side, gently took the gown from her hand, and let it fall to the floor.
Ewan stood awestruck.
Nothing. Juliet stood without anything on. Her chestnut hair cascaded, flowing down over her shoulders, modestly covering her breasts. In Glenraven’s eyes, she was his own Botticelli’s Birth of Venus.
“I thought women—” he stammered.
“It was Aunt Geraldine’s idea,” she whispered, never looking away from him.
“I will thank her—”
“You will do no such thing,” her voice louder than she planned, “Ewan James Alasdair Danford Glenraven.”
He began to laugh but quickly sucked in his breath as she began to work him free of his trousers. When she was done, he guided her onto the bed amidst the plush pillows and the soft fabric. He held her close, her breasts against his chest, and felt her heart beating quickly like a timid sparrow.
“What did I do to deserve you?” he murmured, cradled her. “I love you.”
“I know,” she sighed.
He gazed at her, a bit of mischief in his eyes. “How did you know, Juliet Anne Glenraven?”
“The way you look at me, touch me, care about me, and even listen to me. It makes me love you even more.”
They held each other close, and together, in their secret summerhouse, they explored each other, each touch, each kiss a revelation, and each revelation binding them closer. Her shallow breathing had her heart racing as if she had run up five flights of stairs. Her eyelids fluttered shut as she anticipated what was to come. A warmth spread through her chest, grounding her. Unease was replaced with safety. Need was replaced with passion.
Her eyes fluttered open to find his gray eyes sparkled like lightning, their intensity holding her spellbound. He drew closer, never taking his eyes from hers. Closer. She could see his firm, soft lips. Closer. She reached out—needing to touch him.
She nestled against them. The mere touch of his hand, his knuckles stroking her face, sent a warming shiver through her. His eyes focused on her mouth, and she instinctively wet her parched lips. He ran his thumb gently over her lower lip, sending a tingle through her with each gentle stroke. She kissed his finger, feeling the warmth of his skin against her lips. His quick intake of breath sent a thrill through her, a silent acknowledgement of their shared desire. As he eased closer, wrapping her in his arms, a sense of urgency began to burn inside her. Her heart raced, and there was this deep, insistent need to be closer to him, to feel his touch and warmth. Every part of her responded to his embrace, driving her to press against him, seeking to be closer, but it wasn’t enough.
He lowered his head, and she felt the warmth of his lips on hers. She lifted her trembling hand and caressed his cheek. The thought of him sent her to places she could only find in her dreams. He left her lips and kissed her along her cheek. Juliet , he whispered in her ear. His arms cradled her, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. She wanted him to let her go. Then, he tenderly kissed her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. With a gentle touch, he lifted her chin with the crook of his finger and captured her lips once more. Liquid heat roared through her veins. Every nerve was alive. Every touch of his lips made her dizzy with delight. A hushed moan escaped her lips, the sound meant only for him.
He kissed her lips and she sank further into his arms as he left a trail of velvety, warm kisses down her neck. Another moan, ragged, wavering on the edge of surrender, escaped her lips.
Outside, the rising wind matched her growing desire. He pressed his manhood against her while his lips seared a path across the top of her breasts. She gasped at the sensations and held him tighter lest he stop.
His hand covered her breast, She was going to die, the sensation was exquisite joy. His mouth advanced in a warm, steady march across her collarbone and down the soft incline of her breast. He hesitated, and she panicked. “Please, don’t stop.”
His gaze was intense and unwavering, filled with deep emotion and passion. His eyes, locked on her, conveyed a silent promise and yearning that words could never capture. And she felt cherished, the only person in his world.
A sense of urgency began to build. She attempted halfheartedly to control the dizzying current racing through her but quickly gave up. He dipped his head. His mouth found the softness of her breast. Slowly, he licked her hardened nipple, the sensation pure and explosive.
Her soft curves molded into the hard planes of his body. He raised his head, and she closed her eyes, feeling his breath on her neck as began to trail kisses down her body once more. His hot breath against her stomach, her thigh, and…places, secret places she suddenly felt compelled to share with him. His hands stroked and caressed her, but it wasn’t enough. He was tender, coaxing, kissing, stroking and soothing until she craved more from him. He began slowly at first, still cooing and comforting, and he moved inside her.
The wind picked up—slowly at first. The faster her heart beat, the wilder the wind blew, and the more insistent she became, the deeper he went. Juliet was lost in her desire and Ewan’s passion, but she didn’t care. Slowly, they found a rhythm that brought her to an edge she had never been to before.
“Forever, my Juliet,” he murmured.
A delightful demanding sensation kept building inside her. When she could no longer contain it, she surrendered, her resistance shattered into a million pieces. How would she ever be the same? Her hands raked his back as her heartbeat slowed. She soothed him, until a long, low groan escaped his lips, ending with her name, Juliet .
The wind had calmed. Ewan pulled away, his eyes glistening with contentment. He tucked her head against his chest. “My wife,” he whispered. He kissed the top of her head.
She let out a soft sigh. “Forever, my husband,” she said softly as they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
In their shared journey of discovery, they told each other they were loved, showed each other they were loved, and in the quiet sanctity of their wedding night, they forged a bond that was unbreakable.
Outside the walls of the summerhouse, the world, the ace of hearts, Order of Shadows, and intrigue beyond the gate ceased to exist. In each other’s embrace, they found what they hadn’t realized they had been searching for all along—each other.