“Don’t make me wait too long,” she whispered as she climbed up beside him. “You know I can’t—here . . . like this.”
He smiled. “Otherwise you could.”
“Dressed and halfway across the room I might be able to.”
“I won’t make you wait long.” But he didn’t immediately touch her breasts; he lifted a pale coil of her hair lying on her shoulder, rubbed it gently between his fingers, and quietly inhaling, said, “You smell the same. I would have known you in the dark. What’s that scent?”
“Honeysuckle.” Her throat closed at the low timbre of his voice, at the warmth she could feel radiating from his body; the smoldering green of his eyes beneath his long lashes touched her to the quick. “Please, Jamie.” She went still, then shuddered. “I’m more ravenous—with the changes in my body,” she whispered. “Desire’s like an out of control wildfire at times . . .”
“And no one’s helped you put out those fires?” He tried to keep the growl from his voice but didn’t quite succeed.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, frowning. “When I turned down countless men because of you. When you didn’t so much as write. When I’ve been miserable since you left.”
His mistrust assuaged by her bluntness, having missed her as much if not more, he gently said, “I most humbly beg your pardon. I deeply regret my comment.”
“A favor perhaps will restore your credit,” she softly said.
He grinned, her abrupt volte-face charmingly predictable. “I need not ask what.”
“I should hope not. But I warn you, once you’re well, I shall expect you to perform your husbandly duties assiduously. I’ve become quite insatiable.”
“Is that new?” he teased.
“It is.”
“Then I consider myself extremely fortunate. Come now, I won’t keep you waiting any longer. And nothing hurts, I guarantee, so don’t be shy.”
Everything hurt of course; he wasn’t at his best. But strong willed and capable of withstanding considerable pain, he didn’t even wince as Sofia straddled his thighs and lowered herself down his erection. Nor did he cry out when she accidently grabbed his injured arm to steady herself.
“Oh God,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“No, no, I’m fine,” he said, ignoring the racking pain, the explicitly carnal sensations convulsing his cock more than adequate compensation. “But go slowly, darling. I wouldn’t want to faint midway.” He didn’t wish to faint at all. But a moment later, he said, “Stop for a second,” and once his dizziness cleared and he could see her again, he smiled. “There. I’m good.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” It was the most charitable statement she’d ever uttered, with his magnificent erection gorging her, with her burning desires trembling on the brink, with nirvana almost within reach.
“Yes, we should.” He drew in a small breath. “Just don’t move too quickly.”
Eminently grateful and obliging, Sofia rode him languorously and gently, with the vigilance and care accorded those walking on thin ice. His eyes half-shut, Jamie delicately fondled the billowing fullness of her breasts—his fingertips passing and repassing over her soft flesh. Over and across, up and down in a lazy, soothing rhythm, as she slowly ascended and as slowly descended, the sleek skin to skin friction overpowering his pain, glorious reality obliterating former dream fantasies, lust advancing by predacious, triumphant degrees.
Despite Sofia’s unfrenzied pace, the physical act itself, the trembling need and exquisite pleasure, was profoundly alien to two novices in the tender passions. A kind of lunatic joy infused their souls, love took on a corporeal form, and they breathed in scented magic. The woman who’d traveled so far on hope and the damaged man restored by her coming discovered that day new degrees of rapture, a glowing celebration of life, and at her first breathy cry he recognized so well, he said, “I’m always with you now . . .”
And glorious ecstasy engulfed their senses.
And the earth moved as it always did for them.
Afterward, Jamie said, panting, “Stay, stay—don’t move. You’re not hurting me.” Everything ached, his limbs belonged to someone else, his strength was ravaged.
“If I’m not pregnant, I might be now,” Sofia said with a happy sigh.
He smiled. “I’d like that.”
His heartbreaking smile brought tears to her eyes. “I’m sorry, I seem extremely vulnerable to tears lately. But thank you. Some men wouldn’t wish to hear such news.”
His eyelids lowered faintly, and he gazed up at her from under his lashes. “No more talk of some men or other men if you please. Ever.”
“Yes, sir,” she demurely said, looking every inch the docile maid.
“Oh, God, don’t make me laugh.”
At his comment, she quickly glanced at his bandaged shoulder. “Heavens, you’re bleeding!” she cried. “I’ll get help!”
“Hush, it’s nothing.” He had every intention of climaxing again; his cock at least still worked.
“I wouldn’t want to make you worse.”
“Not likely that. I feel very much better.” At some expense in terms of pain, he shifted his hips to better feel her slick, encompassing warmth. “How about you?”
She smiled. “I am cocooned in bliss and contentment.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t write.” He paused. “I suppose it was because I’d always dealt with things differently.”
“With women you mean.”
“No, everything.” His business was managing people, and making plans and more plans to keep everyone alive; women had never been part of his plans.
“But I’m different from”—she grinned—“your everythings.” She was at base a confident woman.
“Yes, unmistakably.” His smile was warm with affection. “I would have come for you. I know that now.”
“I’m just more impatient.”
He grinned. “A blessing in more ways than one—your impatience.”
“Speaking of which”—she wiggled her bottom faintly, cautiously—“you seem to be fully revived.”
“I think he’s happy about getting married.”
“But only to me.”
“Of course. That goes without saying.” He glanced at the clock. “I think we might have another hour before Douglas begins to worry.”
“And?”
“I’m afraid he’ll take the door down.”
“Then I’d better do my wifely duty quickly.”
“We’re well matched,” he said, his gaze amused. “We were from the beginning. I don’t know why I didn’t notice.”
She smiled. “You had a few other things on your mind.”
“True. Unlike now when I have but one thing on my mind,” he said, stealing her breath away with his beautiful, lazy smile. “My sweet darling.”
And with no sign of effort, because there were things more important than pain, in the next hour, he dispensed with seeming ease that boundless comfort and joy so familiar to his sweet darling.
EPILOGUE
THEY WERE MARRIED that evening with Oz as best man and a young girl from Jamie’s staff as Sofia’s maid of honor. The brief ceremony took place in Jamie’s drawing room, the bridegroom having been carried down on a litter, a new warmth and color to his skin. Afterward, a celebration took place with Oz, the entire staff, Douglas and company in attendance and the bride and groom beaming at one and all.
Jamie’s recovery continued apace, although he had every incentive to regain his strength with carnal desire a constant in his life. When his convalescence was complete in September, the young couple returned to London where they received a warm reception from family and friends. Heartfelt congratulations were extended not only on their marriage but also for their coming child.
Sofia and Rosalind happily compared the various physical changes of blossoming motherhood while their husbands agreed that pregnancy put increasing and gratifying demands on their libidos. Both marriages were the stuff of dreams—aff
ectionate, loving, passion filled.
After a busy week of socializing, Sofia and Jamie left London and traveled to Blackwood Glen where they planned to spend a month or so before returning to Dalmia when the weather turned cold.
But the night before they were to leave, Sofia woke to find herself alone in bed. She immediately experienced a strange, incipient fear—needless perhaps, but vivid nonetheless. Perhaps it was because Jamie had been subdued of late, thinking about things he wouldn’t talk about, setting up small boundaries again that she couldn’t cross. Worried about his recent moodiness, she climbed out of bed and pulled on a robe.
She found him downstairs, standing before a window in his study, watching the sun begin to color the horizon. He’d pulled on his trousers but was otherwise unclothed, his tall, broad form silhouetted against the dim light of predawn. Even from the doorway, she could see the tension in his body.
“I missed you,” she said.
Startled, he swung around, and for a second, under his right shoulder, the two white star-shaped scars of his bullet wounds glinted in the half light. “I was coming back up.”
She caught her breath as she often did at the sight of his scars; she knew how close she’d come to losing him. “Have you been here long?” she asked, forcing herself to speak calmly, reminding herself he was alive and safe.
“A while.”
She noticed the half-empty bottle on the sill and wasn’t sure what to say. “Would you like breakfast?”
He smiled. “You’re turning into a dutiful wife.”
“As you are a husband,” she replied, her own smile tantalizing.
His smile widened. “Is that why you came down?” His duties as stud were persistent and unfailingly delightful.
She shook her head. “I was worried. You’ve been more quiet lately.”
“I don’t think I’m going back,” he abruptly said.
“To Dalmia, you mean?”
He nodded. “I’ve been weary of it all for a long time—the oppression and knavery of the government, the evil that men do, the senselessness of it all. Ernst has others who can guard him, Antonella’s troops for one. I thought I’d write to Douglas and the men and tell them to stay if they wish or come here. It’s their choice.”
“I’d love for us to stay here of course, but are you sure?”
“I think I’d like to see my child grow up. I’d like to live with you in peace and”—he shrugged—“there’s no guarantee of that if we go back.” Or any guarantee that he could protect them from the coming violence in the empire. “I’m being selfish.”
“There’s no crime in that. You don’t have to take care of everyone all the time. You’ve served Ernst loyally. And speaking of selfish, no one’s more selfish than Ernst.”
He grinned. “So we’re agreed?” Although, he’d been sure since yesterday when the baby first kicked.
“Aren’t we always?”
“So long as I let you have your way.”
“That’s what I meant. Now, if you have the time, I could use your services in bed.”
“Why else am I here?”
Her smile was playful. “Why else indeed?”
She held out her hand, and he came to her with that easy stride that always reminded her of latent male power and animal grace. Reaching her, he placed his palms lightly on the rising curve of her stomach. “You bring me great joy—you and this gift of a child you give me,” he whispered, his green gaze full of love, and he held his hands on her stomach one moment longer before he raised them and slid his slender, bronzed fingers through the pale froth of her hair. Bending his head, he sought her mouth like a man too long alone seeks comfort and attachment. He kissed her slowly, deeply, with disarming affection and passion, with pleasure and delight and in the end with a mounting faith in the future. Lifting his mouth from hers at last, he whispered, “You’ve carried me out of the darkness and into the light. I thank you.”
“And you’ve given me love beyond measure,” she said on a light breath, her heart in her eyes. “My dear, my dearest.”
Bending with lithe grace, he slipped one arm under her legs, lifted her in his arms, and strode from the room. “I might be able to amplify that uncalibrated love if I put my mind to it,” he said, smiling. It was still new, confiding in someone, and he elected to be playful instead. “What do you think?”
“I think I made an excellent choice that night at Ernst’s when I agreed to come with you to Scotland.”
He laughed. “You agreed?”
“Well, in a way. The point is,” she brightly added, “I took a real fancy to you when I saw you at Bella’s. I’m so very glad I did.”
“I couldn’t agree more, darling.” And dismissing all the Herculean trials in between—the killings and near killings, the close calls and rivers of blood—he was in accord with his wife.
He’d spent a dozen years at war and years more before that learning the art of war.
And now it was finally over.
As he mounted the stairs in his manor house at Blackwood Glen, his sweet, adored wife in his arms, he understood that at last he was truly home. The evil and self-seeking ambition of the world was distant from his glen. He’d earned this—his retreat from the world, with senses on permanent alert, with slaughter and carnage, with feats of courage few men faced. And now released at last from the hazards and ambiguities of his past, he looked to his future with delight. He would take joy in his wife, beget children, till his fields, and sleep easy at night.
Love had given him all that and he rejoiced.
Keep reading for a preview of the next
historical romance by Susan Johnson
SEDUCTIVE AS FLAME
Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!
Groveland Chase, November 1894
THE DUKE AND Duchess of Groveland were entertaining at their hunting box in the West Riding of Yorkshire. The original party had been small, although more guests had arrived yesterday and tomorrow the local squires and farmers would come out for the day’s hunt. As was often the case with country house parties, those invited arrived with unexpected companions. Charlie Bonner, for instance, had come with his wife, who neither rode to hounds nor liked the country. “Sorry Fitz,” Charlie had murmured with a grin for his host. “I couldn’t shake off Bella.” And surprisingly, Lord Dalgliesh had brought his wife. They barely spoke. But her young son had wanted to see a hunt someone said, and Lord Dalgliesh doted on the boy.
Not that all aristocratic marriages were as ill-conceived and regrettable, although love matches were a rarity in the haute monde. Long-held custom in the fashionable world had always viewed matrimony as a business transaction and marriage settlements as a means of enhancing family wealth, prestige, or bloodlines. Should anyone be looking for love, that was available elsewhere.
Naturally, there were exceptions to prevailing custom. Three of those exceptions were currently having coffee and brandy in a sitting room off the terrace. The Duke of Groveland and his friends, Lords Lennox and Blackwood, were having an early morning eye-opener while waiting for their beloved wives to come down for breakfast.
“To family.” With a smile, the duke raised his cup. “May our tribes increase.”
“A pleasant endeavor,” Oz Lennox murmured. “I’ll drink to that.”
Jamie Blackwood lifted his cup. “We’re fortunate, all of us.”
“Indeed. To kind Fate,” Oz said softly and drained his drink.
A small silence fell, each man fully conscious that life was uncertain, a gamble at best. They all understood how impossibly long the odds had been against meeting the women they loved in the great vastness of the world. How bereft their lives would have been had they not.
Into this contemplative moment a striding figure intruded, sweeping past the long span of French doors. The woman was tall with magnificent flame-red hair, the spectacular lynx coat she wore equally resplendent.
Fitz smiled as she disappeared from sight. “Rumor has it she’s a wi
tch.”
“In more ways than one,” Oz drawled, pushing himself upright in his chair in sudden interest. “What?” He shot his friends a grin. “I love my wife, but I’m not dead. Did you see those flashy spurs? I’ll bet she’s a wildcat in bed.”
“And you should know,” Fitz waggishly noted.
Oz cast a sardonic glance at his friend. “Please—as if either of you were puritans before you married. Hell, Fitz, you had Willery’s bountiful daughter sizing you up under Rosalind’s eye last night at dinner. I thought she might lean over just a little more and let her plump, quivering breasts spill over on your plate. And Bella practically ate Jamie alive while we were having drinks in the drawing room.” He shot a look at James Blackwood, who’d spent years standing stud to not only Bella but a great many other ladies. “Did you have to make amends to Sofie afterward? She didn’t look happy.”
“Bella’s always been difficult,” Jamie coolly replied. “Sofie understands.”
“I beg to differ,” Oz drolly said. “I know Sofie. She doesn’t understand at all.”
“Let’s just say I was able to atone for Bella’s sins. Satisfied? And the enticing Zelda happens to be my cousin so mind your manners.”
Oz grinned. “You’re kidding. Zelda? What a perfect name for a bodacious lady witch.”
“Her name’s Griselda, so relax,” Jamie muttered. “And the gossip about witches arose because she’s recently returned from the jungles of Brazil with some native artifacts that she chooses to wear. She’s no more a witch than you or I.”
“Isn’t she the one who raised all her younger siblings when her mother died?” Fitz asked.
Jamie nodded. “All five of them.”
“So witch and earth mother,” Oz waggishly noted. “Every male fantasy.”
Jamie gave his friend a warning glance. “Fucking behave.”
“Or?” Oz’s grin was brilliant.
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