Chapter Fifteen #2
Ever closed his eyes, relief loosening something tight beneath his ribs as his breath left him. He turned, and she was there. Candlelight clung to the pale silk at her shoulders, to the curve of her throat. Her amber gaze was steady, but the pulse beneath her ear fluttered wildly, betraying her.
He gripped her wrist and pulled her into a shadowed recess where no one would see them. “No, and I never will, sprite,” he whispered, tipping her face into the hushed moonlight and claiming her mouth before she could debate it.
She accepted his dominance, the kiss swelling until it rolled over them like a wave.
Her arms circled his neck as he walked her back, fingers curving around her hip as they met the balustrade.
For two souls who had shared everything, intimacy and secrets, the chase was brief.
Her moan broke against his mouth, his answering hunger unmistakable as the rhythm between them found its pace—heat building, breath tangling, restraint slipping until they moved as one.
“My,” she breathed, and reached for him.
Her fingers cupped his cock, searing him through layers of superfine and cotton.
“You have missed me.” Then she made it worse, describing the taste of him as she explored his shape.
The image of her on her knees before him in his bedchamber, her gaze finding his in candlelight, roared through him.
It had been the most erotic moment of his life.
Stunned into silence, he let her undo him on a thankfully deserted Mayfair terrace, her touch inquisitive, her words damning, halting her only when his excitement moved him past the ability to sustain a simple kiss.
Dropping his brow to hers, he exhaled against her cheek. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to—”
“Come,” she murmured, interrupting him when he’d planned to use a more tender term. Spend, perhaps. Spill, even, crude but precise.
Laughing softly at his bewilderment, confidence in place, Isabella continued to stroke him, thumb circling his crown through the cloth, lips nipping the tender nook above his collar, hips rocking into his.
Dropping his head back, he gripped her waist and closed his eyes, losing reason.
Any argument misplaced, his inclination to deny her dissolved.
He’d rarely let anyone render him powerless—let himself be powerless. Maybe he never had, Ever realized, as the power of love ratcheted through him.
Isabella unfastened two buttons on his trousers, her fingers grazing his length through the fall of his drawers.
It was hurried, slightly graceless, and devastating.
She seduced him in single-minded increments, and ended it by whispering about touching herself in her darkened bedchamber, wishing his fingers were there instead of hers.
He groaned, his mouth taking hers in a savage kiss. She couldn’t have known it was his fantasy, one he’d never experienced with anyone. The image of watching her bring herself to release was enough to drag his own from him.
Isabella held steady as he shook and trembled, governing his world for those scant moments. The aftershock lingered as the night closed around them, sensation overtaking him, pleasure cresting hard, without mercy.
Vision blurred, breath torn from his lungs, Ever sagged against the balustrade. “You can’t marry a dead man, Isa,” he whispered, his fingers shaking as he fumbled to fasten his trousers. “And my bloody heart feels near to bursting. Did you forget those fourteen years I have on you?”
The only reply was the rustle of silk as she casually wiped her hand on her skirt, and beneath it, riding the humid air, a faint, triumphant chuckle.
As composed as he could be with her touch imprinted on his skin, Ever dragged a hand through his hair and forced himself to meet her gaze.
Petal-thin streaks of moonlight outlined her, offering meager illumination—enough cover if anyone stumbled into this deserted recess, but not when a man wanted every detail.
She’d stepped back to give him room to lean against the balustrade, his legs bracketing her.
Her smile was wide, her cheeks flushed, as if she’d climaxed with him.
Instead of asking what he should, he whispered, “Did you mean what you said about pleasuring yourself? If so, I won’t ever forget it.”
Isabella dipped her head, a muted sound of delight spilling from her lips.
He stared, fascinated to his bones. Success looked bloody marvelous on her.
It was staggering, the instant Ever comprehended what he’d given her: rare knowledge of him, and the power to use it.
Enough to ruin him, should she wish.
Her smile deepened as she stepped in, and he could only draw her into his arms, his knees closing around her hips to keep her there.
“You can trust me, Everard Trentham. With your heart, your hopes, your future. I’ll be your family if you let me, your partner in every way possible. There will be no need to run.”
“I love you, Isa,” he whispered, the words unfamiliar on his tongue. “More than I know how to manage, though I’m ready to learn.”
Isabella’s hand rose to tangle in his hair. “Took you long enough.”
“That’s not—”
She laughed, low and warm, then pulled him tight against her. Her mouth found his, sealing the space between them before she drew back just enough to meet his gaze. Her eyes were deep amber, darkened by the night.
“I love you back,” she whispered. “Although I know exactly how to manage it.”
His mouth curved. “As I suspect, since you’ve been managing me from the start.”
“Thank you for the gifts, Ever.” Her fingertip traced the shell of his ear, sending goosebumps dancing along his skin. “I’ll treasure them. The stone is already smooth from my touch.”
A quiet breath left him. “Derbyshire’s in my heart. You’re part of it, part of me.”
Her lashes trembled.
There will never be a better time.
Heart thumping, Ever reached into his coat pocket and drew out a velvet box, its crimson fabric worn soft.
The hinge gave a faint sigh as he opened it.
Inside, a blue sapphire caught the light, encircled by small diamonds set in a gold band dulled by age.
His mother’s ring, passed down from her mother.
Nothing his father had ever touched.
“She would have loved you,” he said quietly. “So much.”
Isabella’s fingers stilled at his nape. “Oh…”
A spike of nerves hit him, and Ever forced his shoulders to loosen before he spoke.
“I don’t want to wait, sprite. I care about what we want—not society, not their demands.
But there are burdens tied to the title: Langley Park, the tenants, the villagers.
” His jaw tightened. “Being my countess won’t be simple.
Scrutiny. Expectation. Eyes on you at every turn.
But you’ve never asked for simple. And I promise, I won’t try to change you. ”
Isabella went utterly still, and the silence stretched.
“My solicitor can secure a special license,” he said, sliding the ring onto her finger. “I want you now, if you’ll have me. I won’t let another night pass without knowing.”
Isabella stared, lips parted as though a word had lost its way.
The word.
An uncertain breath left him. He cupped her face, drawing her shaken gaze to his. “Sprite,” he murmured, half exasperated, half undone—always undone with her. “You’re killing me. Where’s my yes?”
She stayed frozen a beat, lashes lowering, lifting. Then her hand lowered, not to push him away, but to press flat against his chest as though confirming he was real.
“Do you truly imagine,” she said, her voice trembling despite her best effort, “that I would endure an unexpected visit to a clandestine surgeon—and the small matter of you leaving me in Derbyshire—without intending to be your wife? An abandonment you will explain to me soon.”
Relief cracked through him, bright and almost boyish. “You’re certain?”
“Entirely,” she returned, and rose to her toes to seal it herself.
A throat cleared from the far end of the terrace.
Ever turned to find his future brother-in-law standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, trying and failing to look innocent. “If this is the part where someone faints,” Weston called, “I should warn you the guests have begun wagering.”
Ever started to explain, but Isabella pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing him. The sapphire flashed in the moonlight.
Weston’s gaze dropped to her hand, his spectacle lenses flashing. “That explains the wagering.”
“Let them be scandalized,” Ever said. “They’ll recover.”
“Agreed. But come inside before they decide you’ve eloped,” Weston said, shifting aside. “We’ll announce what needs announcing. I’m fairly certain someone’s already found the champagne.”
Ever laced his fingers through Isabella’s. “Do you hear that, sprite? We have a life to begin.”
And when he led her inside, he didn’t look back.