Chapter Twenty-Five
“Redeem yourself, Qavox! Fight this evil with me.”
“Princess,” he growled, “my mind hasn’t changed. I must leave you here. There is no redemption for a dragon.” He bowed his neck, and she slid down to the ground in front of the castle gates.
She placed a hand against the warm column of his foreleg.
This beast had been her sole companion lo these many months, and in that time he had frightened her, disappointed her, maddened her with his implacability.
Yet he believed in her in a way that nobody ever had, made her feel as if she could indeed take on a castle full of evil and be excited for whatever came next.
Tears sprang into her eyes. “Goodbye, my Dragon.”
—The Dragon and the Blue Star by Analise Crewe
Tonight was the night.
Tonight they would consummate this marriage.
Dex stood at the tall windows looking out on the garden path.
It wasn’t the early autumn foliage, or the late summer roses, resplendent golds and fuchsias and magentas harmoniously blending in the hazy late afternoon sun that caught his gaze.
It was the woman walking up the path, her slight form in a butter-yellow gown, bending gracefully from time to time to smell a random bloom, then straightening and staring off dreamily into the distance, no doubt composing a description of their scent to be written down immediately once inside.
He was supposed to be back in London by now.
He’d finally located Harrison’s sister, Laurel, and the situation was worse than he’d feared.
She’d been forced out of the family home after the war, where she’d been set up as Harrison’s housekeeper, and had subsequently disappeared into a succession of increasingly menial jobs, until finally his solicitor had found her selling meager posies in St. Giles, sleeping in a shanty with dozens of other down-on-their-luck sorts.
She was currently waiting for word from his solicitor at a respectable boarding house he’d secured for her, but she was half-blind from a fever and badly needed a companion to aid her in her daily tasks.
He had a list of potential candidates and had meant to be in London to interview them all personally.
He had work to do, the work that had occupied him since he’d recovered from his injuries.
Doing his part to ease the lives of others who had been devastated by the war.
He shouldn’t be lingering here like a lovesick schoolboy, staring out the window at Ana, dreaming about what he would do to her tonight.
He’d promoted one of his staff to serve as temporary steward, a man he trusted. He should be on his way back to London. Fulfill his duty and resume the life he’d built for himself. Ana would stay here where everyone doted on her.
The house hummed with new life. Christ, he’d seen McArdle smile at her earlier today.
McArdle, whose name should really be McCurdle, because he had a constant expression of judgmental distaste, as though life and society had disappointed him so thoroughly that his lips had forgotten how to do anything but frown.
He looked out the window again, noting the now empty path.
Where was she? Somewhere in the house working her magic, maybe heading to her writing desk?
Bringing to life the denizens of Clovercote in the same way she’d created an entire new world out of thin air, one crawling with dragons and steeped in enchantment.
He wanted to return to Vyranthrall. He wanted to know how the story ended, true, but he also wanted to escape its creator, dive into a reality where she wasn’t always so tantalizingly at hand.
Or right behind him.
“Whatever are you looking at, Dex?” Her voice danced across his senses. “I see nothing outside to glare at with such consternation.”
He’d been caught thinking about her, yearning for her. And here she was, the sunshine of her gown and her teasing smile breaking through the clouds in his mind.
She was a crackling fire on a cold damp night. All he wanted to do was stretch toward her, warm himself in her smile. His capacity for joy had atrophied, his smile was out of practice, stiff with unuse, like cold fingers, aching joints.
“I thought I saw a deer at the edge of the woods.”
“A deer? How magical. I adore the woods on your grounds.”
“Our grounds,” he reminded her automatically.
“Ah, yes! I suppose so. Our grounds.” She’d plucked a yellow rose on her walk through the garden. Now she traced its petals with one finger, looking at the rose and not at him.
An awkward silence fell. Normally, she would fill that silence with chatter but she chose to remain silent, as though she believed him capable of finding the perfect topic of conversation. He cleared his throat. “Are you making any progress on the Clovercote novel?”
“Some, although I confess I’ve been a bit distracted.
I’ve had several letters in response to the advertisement we put in the papers for news of Papa.
None of them with any ring of veracity. People wanting the reward, pretending to have knowledge.
But it’s all false.” She sighed. “Maybe nothing will come of it.”
He’d known nothing would come of it, but he’d been willing to go along for her sake. She’d have to come to terms with her father’s loss at some point. “I’ll renew the advertisement for another month while I’m in London, shall I?”
“Then you’ll be going again soon?”
“Yes. I’ve much to attend to. Taking care of business, tenants . . . business things.” He realized how lame he sounded, and he was glad that she chose to ignore it. She looked a little vexed, with a pout forming on that kissable mouth.
“Well, it must be frighteningly fascinating to keep you so long away from home. While you’ve been visiting your tenants, I’ve been getting to know the household staff.
There’s a whole world happening here, right under our noses, every bit as exciting as the London ton.
McArdle’s quest to squash the more creative tendencies of the cooks, Cloris and Agnes antagonizing the gardener with their criticisms of his vegetable plot.
My Tessie has even developed feelings for one of your footmen. ”
“Which one?”
“George.”
“The strapping lad from the village?”
“That’s the one.”
“He’s a good fellow. They should be very happy together.”
“They’ve only known each other a matter of weeks.”
“You and I married after a month.”
“We were forced to marry.”
“Indeed.” He cupped her cheek with his palm, stroking his thumb over her plump lower lip. “We are married. Therefore, we must do something before I depart for London. Can you guess what that is?”
“Er . . .” A fetching flush rose in her cheeks. She surely knew what he was going to say. She was thinking about consummating, as much as he was. “You must throw a dazzling dinner party for all of the neighboring gentry, including your brother, Rupert?”
He froze, her words throwing ice water on his erotic imaginings. “What do you know of Rupert?”
“The household staff pointed out his house. You can see it from your grounds and yet you’ve never invited him to meet me. It’s extremely vexing.”
“You’re extremely vexing.”
“I’m just getting started. I also discovered that—”
“Enough.” He stilled her with a finger over her lips. “I’m not talking about dinner parties, or discovering buried familial secrets. I speak of making this a marriage in truth.”
He leaned closer, brushing his lips against the soft skin of her neck. “I speak of consummation,” he said huskily.
“Oh.” Her eyes closed and she swayed against him. “I was wondering why . . . that is, I don’t know why we haven’t achieved that state before now.”
“Because I’ve been biding my time, waiting for you to be ready, to bloom for me like this rose you hold.
” Gently, he took the rose from her fingers, smelling the lemony-sweet scent.
“I’ve been dying to take you, Ana.” He slid the soft rose petals down her neck, into her decolletage.
Her breathing quickened. He trailed kisses down the same path, slipping her bodice lower to kiss her breasts, finding one nipple with his tongue.
She arched backward, offering herself to him.
He sucked greedily, supporting her weight with an arm around her waist, splaying his hand over her belly.
“Dex,” she said breathily. “We’re not in private.”
“Are you ready for me, sweet Ana?” The sheer force of his need made his voice low, nearly a growl. She must say yes. She must be his.
“Y-yes,” she said shakily. “I’m ready.”
He gathered her up easily into his arms. “Then it’s time I took you to bed.”
She studied his face, the firelight sending shadows over his scars, his eyes holding hers, waiting for her response. The room seemed to be holding its breath.
It was as though her mind had decided there was no use in attempting to fathom what was happening to her and had just decided to allow her body to steer the ship.
He kissed her forehead, her lips, her neck. “Your skin is like silk. Are you really mine to touch? To smell. To taste?” He moved lower, trailing kisses over her breasts, down her belly, and lower still.
She wound her fingers into his hair as his head moved and his tongue pleasured her.
He didn’t stop her from touching him. The allowed intimacy warmed her insides as though she’d drunk a glass of wine.
He slipped his fingers inside her as his tongue continued teasing her, coaxing her toward climax.
She sighed dreamily as ripples of pleasure played through her body.
He raised his head and licked his fingers slowly, savoring the flavor of her, making her watch. “Salt-honey on my tongue. Are you mine for the taking, Ana?”
“I’m yours,” she breathed. “Take me, Dex.”
He reared up above her, bracing his arms on either side of her body.
There was no strategy to her words, no thought of making him lose control. She was the one who was lost. Her head spinning from this feeling of closeness, from being so thoroughly pleasured.