As his clever fingers unlaced her gown and stays, she murmured, “Your bedchamber or mine?”
“Neither,” he replied, drawing her gown and chemise off her shoulders so that he could kiss her naked skin. “Unless you have some objection, I want you here, just as you are.”
His words thrilled her, partly with astonishment, and by the time arguments such as intruding servants dropped into her clouded mind, it was too late to care. She lay naked in his arms while he kissed every inch of her, and her hands roved over the smooth skin of his back, under the shirt, which she tugged over his head and threw aside. He left her for an instant only to kick off his breeches, and she reached for him with both arms, almost in panic.
He slid back into her arms and into her urgent body, making her gasp with the unexpected discomfort. But she trusted him too much to complain, and after a moment of labored breathing, he began to move, gently and sweetly, and the pleasure crept back. His eyes, excitingly hot and clouded, locked with hers, as though gauging her reaction to his every caress, inside and out. She let her growing wonder shine in her face and in her hands as she stroked his warm back, and the delight grew in his eyes to match hers.
She had hoped to please him, but never had she imagined the kind of joy she so clearly brought to him. It sped hers over the edge into ecstasy, and she cried out in awe and gratitude.
Later, much later, they walked naked, hand-in-hand into her adjoining bedchamber and lay down together in the bed.
He stroked her hair, smiling. “Are you weary, my love?”
She shook her head. “No. Are you?”
“No. I don’t believe I shall ever be weary again.”
As he kissed her, just before she lost herself completely, she wondered about the Hart Inn and Lily, who had first brought them together. She hoped Lily would find happiness like this.
And then there was only Marcus.
About Mary Lancaster
Mary Lancaster lives in Scotland with her husband, three mostly grown-up kids and a small, crazy dog.
Her first literary love was historical fiction, a genre which she relishes mixing up with romance and adventure in her own writing. Her most recent books are light, fun Regency romances written for Dragonblade Publishing: The Imperial Season series set at the Congress of Vienna; and the popularBlackhaven Brides series, which is set in a fashionable English spa town frequented by the great and the bad of Regency society.
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The Weary Heart Page 23