Chapter 28
Amelia blinked, annoyed. “You’re calling me silly? I’m not silly, I—”
She was cut off, as Stephen dived forward, winding his arms around her waist and pulling her in a tight embrace. His mouth found hers, his lips cool and tasting of mist.
If mist had a taste, that is.
Amelia gave a yelp of surprise, which he swallowed. There was no time to adjust to the kiss or to the fact that he was pressed against her, hard and warm enough to make her body respond. Twinges ran down her spine, heat pooling in her gut.
He pulled back, not far enough to put too much space between them, but certainly enough to let her breathe.
“You believe this was duty? Fear of scandal? Desire for revenge?” he breathed, eyes dark and wide.
“You’re a fool if you believe that, Amelia.
Since the moment I met you, you’ve driven me mad.
I can think of nothing but you. You haunt my dreams, you hide behind my eyelids every time I blink.
I cannot get you out of my head, Amelia, and what’s more, I don’t want to.
You think I want an excuse to get out of this marriage?
No, that’s not true, and you’d be a fool to believe that I don’t care for you. ”
There was a beat of silence. If it could be called silence, that is.
Amelia’s heart thrummed within her ribcage, fighting to get out. Her breath echoed in her ears, rushing along to the rhythm of her blood.
“I don’t understand,” she murmured.
That wasn’t entirely true. She did understand, since he’d been fairly clear, but the reality of it, the implication, was all too much.
He lifted a hand, gently brushing his knuckle along the underside of her jaw.
“If you choose not to marry me tomorrow,” he whispered, “then that is your choice to make. I won’t stop you.
I won’t chase you this time. As for me, I’ll be in the chapel at the hour we agreed upon.
I will be there. And if you’ll let me, Amelia, I’ll always be there for you, from here on out. ”
Again, silence. An owl hooted outside.
Amelia stared up at him, her eyes wide.
Is this a dream? Am I going to wake up and find that I’m lying in my bed? Or perhaps it’ll be worse, and I’ll find that I’m still locked in Harry’s drawing room, with only the knife and a cup of cold tea left behind for me?
As if to reassure herself, she lifted a trembling hand to Stephen’s face, letting her fingertips trail across his cheek. His skin was rough and warm. Stubble bristled against her fingers.
He held her gaze, firm and unblinking, but she heard his breath stutter in his throat. Tilting his head, he pressed his cheek into her palm. She felt the weight of his head, heavy against her hand.
She let her fingers trail lower, down the column of his throat, across those impressively broad shoulders, over the expanse of his chest, to where she could feel his heart beat strongly against her palm. He stood still, allowing her to explore.
“Well?” he whispered, breaking the silence. “What will it be, Amelia? Will you return with me, or go back to your sewing at that modiste’s?”
She bit her lip, not sure if she wished to laugh or cry, or perhaps both.
“I don’t believe I can,” she breathed. “I suppose that is the trouble with giving away one’s heart. You cannot simply get it back by asking.”
Heat flared in his eyes, a fresh hunger. She’d seen that look before, and it sparked an answering hunger inside her. This time, when he leaned forward to kiss her, she met his lips halfway.
“And your heart,” he breathed, moving back just enough to get the words out. “Do you want it back?”
She let her fingernails scrape ever so gently over the nape of his neck, ruffling the short, soft hairs there. His pupils blew wide at that, and she tracked the movement of his throat as he swallowed.
“That depends. Do you intend to take good care of it?”
“The best,” he whispered.
Their lips crashed together once more. Heat rushed through Amelia, coiling in her gut and pulsing between her legs. The cold outside was forgotten, as was her mad dash through the trees.
It’s over. I’m safe. My sisters are safe. It’s over.
She gripped Stephen’s lapels, pulling him harder against her.
When she tugged at his jacket, he seemed to understand what she wanted and pulled back just enough to tear it off.
She was sure she heard a button pop. The cravat came next, the pin clinking into the shadowy corners of the room.
With one smooth motion, he tugged the linen shirt over his head.
Candlelight played over the ridges of his chest, every bit as impressive as when she’d seen it in the bath.
Perhaps he was thinking of that event when he grinned, pulling her back against him. Fingers tugged at the buttons on her bodice. She felt the topmost button loosen, then the next, then the next, until her bodice sagged and the neckline loosened.
Stephen leaned forward and kissed her once more, a soft, gentle thing that did not seem to match the stark coldness of their surroundings. Closing her eyes, Amelia tipped her head back.
His lips trailed down her neck, lingering on the hollow at the base of her throat. With a gentle tug, the loose neckline of her gown slipped down over her shoulders.
Goosebumps broke out over her skin. He chased the pebbled flesh with his fingertips, warm and soothing.
Down he went, his lips drifting over the swell of her breasts.
When he tugged her bodice down further still, baring her breasts entirely, Amelia sucked in a breath, her eyes widening.
It felt so wrong to be bare like that in the open, yet so wickedly thrilling.
His fingertips ghosted over bare flesh, and his lips followed. He kissed the swell of her breasts again, drifting lower. His tongue darted over her nipple, and her knees threatened to buckle.
Then he pulled back, and she nearly staggered, shocked at the loss of warmth and support.
“Just a moment,” Stephen whispered, his voice thick, sounding almost choked.
He strode over to the padded benches, moving quickly and efficiently, in an obvious hurry. He tore off the long cushions, tossing them onto the ground to form a neat little pile. Then he turned back to Amelia, extending a hand.
She came to him almost without thinking, taking his hand. Stephen’s gaze raked over her, his eyes darkening with want. He clicked his tongue at the goosebumps on her skin, then snatched up the half-forgotten blanket and draped it over her shoulders again.
The world shifted around her, and Amelia found herself lying on her back, the cushions barely softening the hardness of the floor.
Stephen moved over her, supporting his weight on his knees and elbows. That disappointed her somehow. Did she want his weight on her, pushing her down? Perhaps.
Think about it later.
He kissed her again, more impatient than before. His thigh, still encased in deerskin breeches, brushed against hers.
Suddenly eager to feel his skin on hers, Amelia tugged at her skirt, pulling it up past her knees. Stephen chuckled against her lips, and she felt the sound reverberate through her body.
“Impatient, I see,” he murmured.
She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him down toward her. “I would not have to be impatient if you did not take so long.”
He laughed at that, and she found herself smiling.
The expression felt strange on her face. Was she really smiling, giddy, and hot with desire, so shortly after that business with Harry?
Her mind went blank as Stephen reached down, his warm fingertips dancing along her thigh.
No matter how many times he does that, I’ll never get used to the feeling.
Those clever fingers slid into her core, just like before, and she closed her eyes, letting the sensation unfold and sweep through her. He moved quickly, efficiently, with practiced strokes, bringing her so close to her peak in what felt like a handful of seconds.
Then, quite abruptly, his touch ceased.
Amelia opened her eyes, resisting the urge to pout in disappointment. Stephen stared down at her, his eyes half-lidded with desire, his lips wet and parted.
“How would you feel,” he whispered, “about having our wedding night a little earlier?”
She licked her lips, conscious of a rush of warmth traveling up her torso. “I think that I would like that very much,” she managed, her voice betraying her just a little.
A slow smile spread across Stephen’s face, his lips curling back to reveal sharp, wolfish teeth. “Well then, I would hate to disappoint.”
“Disappoint? You never could.”
She was rewarded with a kiss.
He shifted, putting more of his weight on her this time.
Not enough to crush her, but certainly enough that she could feel his presence.
He kissed her once more, his fingertips skimming up and down her sides.
His hands danced down to her thighs, sliding against her wet heat with a slow and lazy rhythm as if they had all the time in the world.
Well, perhaps they had.
After a moment, when Amelia was thoroughly hazy and aching with desire, he sat back on his heels and dropped his hands to the placket of his breeches, teasing the button there.
“If you want me to stop, or slow down, or do anything at all, you had better tell me,” he said, his voice catching on the last words. “If you change your mind…”
“I won’t,” she breathed. “I… I want you, I think.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You think?”
“No, I am sure of it. I am entirely sure.”
He nodded and undid the last button.
Amelia had seen the male member depicted in various old anatomy books, mostly the ones she was not supposed to read. Seeing it in person was a little different.
There was not much time to consider this, however, because Stephen leaned forward, kissing her once more. His hands shifted, reaching down to touch between them again, finding that spot that made her tense like a drawn bowstring.
When he pushed into her, it took her a moment or two to adjust to the new sensation, not entirely dissimilar to the feel of his fingers inside her, but very clearly more intense.
She let out a short breath, shifting her hips, and he began to move, incrementally at first.
Something sparked inside her, something deeply buried, and she let out a ragged breath, closing her eyes.
“Don’t do that,” he whispered, his fingers curling around her chin. “Don’t close your eyes.”
She obeyed, her eyes fluttering open.
The pressure inside her built, rising with his movements. The spark of pleasure steadily grew into a flame, a hungry fire in the pit of her stomach that climbed the column of her spine.
Stephen’s thrusts quickened, and she could hear the rasp of his breath. She could see the pleasure tightening his face, and that thrilled her more than words could say. He bent down once more, pressing a rough kiss to her lips. It tasted of desperation.
Climax crashed over her, spreading from her core to the extremities of her limbs, and lingered there for what felt like an eternity.
Stephen grinned, dizzy with his own desire, pressing his lips against the side of her neck. She felt the pinprick of his teeth against her skin just as his movements stuttered, becoming irregular. He stilled against her, and when the blood in her ears cooled, she could hear their mingled breathing.
At last, Stephen pulled back, just a few inches. He searched her face, his eyebrows drawn together. “Amelia?”
She gave a wobbly, giddy smile. “I am fine, Stephen. In fact, I am better than fine.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Of course you are.”
She tugged at his shoulders, and he needed no further encouragement to lean down and kiss her again, a lazy, almost untidy kiss.
“I love you,” he breathed, his breath warm against her skin. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment you broke into my house.”
“I did not break into your house.”
“We shall have to agree to disagree on that matter.”
She chuckled, cupping his face in her hands. “I suppose it does not really matter, because the plain fact is that I love you too.”
Another smile crept onto his face, and there was less of the wolf in it.
Minutes passed, or perhaps it was a little longer? Amelia had no way to mark the passage of time and no particular interest in doing so. They lay together, mostly quiet but sometimes murmuring to each other, their sweat-cooled limbs tangled.
“Come,” Stephen said eventually, pulling himself to his feet with obvious reluctance. “It’s going to get unbearably cold here over the next few hours. Even cushions and that single blanket won’t stave off the chill of the small hours. We ought to go back to the house.”
Amelia wasn’t entirely sure that her legs would support her, but she took his proffered hand anyway, letting him pull her to her feet.
“You had better lace me up,” she murmured, biting back a grin. “I can hardly walk back into the house like this.”
He snorted, pulling her close for a quick kiss.
She allowed him to turn her around, his chest warm against her back.
His fingertips grazed her bare shoulders, sending goosebumps up and down her spine.
The contact lasted only for a glorious instant, then he was all business, lacing up her corset with a practiced hand and fastening the countless tiny buttons on her bodice.
Gradually, she returned to respectability.
What a pity.
“I thought that I wouldn’t be able to protect you,” he murmured, after a moment or two of silence.
Amelia stayed quiet, letting him speak.
“I could not be the son my father needed. I couldn’t protect the friends I made at war. I couldn’t even protect myself, so what good could I possibly be to you?”
“I don’t need protection,” Amelia said. “I’ve taken care of myself for years, and my sisters, too.
You try to shoulder everybody’s burdens.
You were trying to get justice for me, a stranger, at the same time you were seeking revenge.
Life gives us enough burdens to weigh us down, Stephen. You don’t need to pick up more.”
He fastened the final button and leaned forward to press a kiss to the nape of her neck. “I suppose you’re right.”
She turned to face him, smiling. “I generally am. And perhaps, in our life together, we’ll see which of us is more likely to be right about things.”
He wound an arm around her waist, pulling her close with a deep chuckle. “Oh, we shall see, my almost-Duchess. We shall certainly see.”