by Staci Hart
And I couldn’t for the life of me understand how we hadn’t been doing this from the start.
My hands wanted to learn the shape of him, my lips wished to know his taste. And for that reason, it was a long time before we finally parted, breathless and soul-sated.
Our bodies were another matter altogether. But we’d have time to sate them when we were alone.
I smiled up at him. He smiled down at me.
“What will everyone think?” I mused, my arms hanging around his neck.
“That we’re crazy.”
“They wouldn’t be wrong.”
“Are you embarrassed?” he asked quietly.
“Only of how I behaved.”
He relaxed. “It’s going to be awkward.”
“Luckily, I’m great at awkward. I mean, not as awkward as you are, but—”
He was laughing when he kissed me, our teeth briefly meeting as if to prove the point. But again I sighed into him, the kiss deepening until our bodies searched for more. His hands roamed, cupping my ass, toying with the waistband of my jeans, tracking the curve of my waist. I could have climbed him like a gym rope—in fact, I was just about to when we heard a snicker from the hallway.
Our lips popped when they disconnected, but our bodies didn’t budge. Liam held me in place with his hand on my back like he didn’t want to let me go. And I didn’t want him to either, not even with my brother and Georgie amused and shocked in our eyeline.
Georgie leaned into Jett. “See? I told you,” she said to him.
“Told him what?” Liam asked with a brow arched.
“Just that you were a gentle breeze away from finally admitting you’re obsessed with each other,” Jett answered.
“It’s been painful to watch,” Georgie noted. “Do you ever do anything the easy way?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I asked.
When Liam laughed, I looked up at him with wonder at the sound. Our eyes locked again, smiles fading as our lips came closer, wishing for something else to occupy them.
“Jeez, get a room,” Georgie said.
Liam finally let me go with the exception of my hand, which he wrapped up in his.
“I think champagne is in order.” Georgie tugged Jett in the direction of the kitchen. “Please don’t make me come back in here to get you,” she called over her shoulder. “It’s been too good a day to ruin it by seeing something I shouldn’t.”
When they were gone, he pulled me into his chest again. “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”
“Only if I can stay here after.”
“Always.” He brushed my cheek with his knuckles, his eyes following the motion. “Did we just …”
“I think we did.”
“It feels wrong to be so happy. I don’t … I don’t believe I deserve it.”
“Because of me?”
“Because of everything. There hasn’t been much room for joy in my life, not for a long time. So long, I forgot the feeling. Until you.”
“Then I say you’ve earned every minute.”
“I think,” he started, pausing again. “I think I’ve been given a gift.”
“Don’t waste it.”
“Oh, I don’t intend to,” he said hotly.
And the kiss he laid on me all but guaranteed it.
31
The Sea and the Shore
LANEY
Two Months Later
Liam turned me around the dance floor at Wasted Words to Lionel Richie, and neither of us could seem to stop smiling.
Of course, where my smile was broad and frequently accompanied by laughter, Liam’s was a quiet thing that somehow still managed to change him into a creature of joy. A mischievous glint in his eyes, his brow smooth and cheeks a little higher than I was accustomed to. Those were the notable features, but the levity that clung gently to him was otherwise indefinable. It was as if he had lived in a land of unending rain and had seen the sun for the very first time. Now he carried it with him wherever he went.
The night had been long and lovely, another regency mixer. Liam had surprised me this afternoon with a new dress—a sky-blue empire-waisted shot-silk affair—as well as a chemise, stays, a petticoat, silk stockings, and matching shoes.
When posed with the why of it, his answer was, Something to complement your eyes, of course, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I wanted something to unwrap when we get home.
Georgie and I spent too long getting ready, curling the front section of our hair in barrels to frame our faces and twisting up the back into a virtual bouquet of ringlets. It took us a minute to figure out our stays—which were shockingly comfortable—but once we were set, the effect was some sort of magic.
Jett and Liam waited in the living room in their beautiful suits, cravats tied and scotches in hand as they chatted through their idle time. And when we’d set off, I’d been sad it was in a taxi and not a coach and four.
Two months had flown by, propelled by hope and happiness. The business with Catherine was behind us—Longbourne was back in action, and she had decided to live in a state of denial about the relationships of her niece and nephew, though Liam believed she’d eventually come around, the sentimental man that he was. But for the time, she wasn’t speaking to any of us, and she had no recourse for her grievances.
In the end, we’d gotten around the company clause quite simply.
Because Jett and I had gone back to Longbourne.
What do you want, Elaine?
My mother’s question had haunted me from the moment it left her lips. But it wasn’t until Liam that the answer became clear.
First, I wanted him—once I’d realized, there was only that directive. In the beginning, I worried we’d bicker like children, always at odds, always fighting for power. But we hadn’t gotten in a single fight. Not a minor tiff. Not a snap, not a jab, not a one. The closest we came was on the day I moved in, the dispute in regards to which side of the bed we claimed. Spoiler alert—I won.
The truth was, there was only an abundance of love between us, forged in that fire that had kept us apart for too long. We’d gotten all the wiggles out early, we supposed.
It was Liam who brought me around to the second thing I wanted. It was on a night when we lay in bed, our limbs tangled and our breath slow, my head resting on his chest, listening to his rumbling words as he spoke. He’d known what I wanted before I did, seeing it the first time he was prisoner to a Bennet dinner, when all twelve chairs were full. My mother beamed at the sight of Liam and Georgie on our arms. My father quietly assessed and approved—the two of them were so much alike, I wondered if Dad had once brooded the way Liam did. My siblings were welcoming, the whole night a long and lovely exhaustion. Liam hadn’t said much, just sat with that inescapable smile on his face, occasionally laughing and always watching.
When he told me I wanted to work at Longbourne that night in bed, I was sure my mother had gotten to him—which she had, but not about that. Liam held my face when I balked, and with knowledge of me no one else possessed, he told me the truth of my heart.
That what I wanted was my family, but I’d been too stubborn to admit it.
It was the hairline crack in a hatching egg, a realization that pecked and stretched until the shell broke and fell away. Had I always wanted to be a part of Longbourne? The answer was yes, but it’d been buried under so much willful refusal that I didn’t even realize I was carrying a cross I’d foisted on myself. Not my mother. Not my siblings. I’d manifested the entire thing, simply because I didn’t want anyone to dictate my life, even if my dreams were in alignment with what they wanted.
When I told Jett I wanted to go back, you’d have thought he’d been let out of prison, he was so relieved. He practically shoved me out the door and into a cab to go tell our family. A week later, he and Georgie found a place in the Village where he’d be close to Longbourne, and I moved in with Liam.
It’d been fast and probably reckless, but there was no denying who we were and
what we wanted. I was certain of so few things in my life, but being with him was the one thing I didn’t question. He was a lazy stream after a life of rapids, a luxuriant joy. We joked that if we could survive our explosive courtship, we could survive nearly anything. All we had to do was trust each other with our truths and share those truths with each other, without fear, a promise we’d both made and kept.
He smiled down at me, his bottomless eyes twinkling. “I requested this song, you know.”
“What?” I asked on a laugh. “Why?”
“I had a wrong to right. I told you once I’d never dance with you, in a bar, to a Lionel Richie song. But the truth is, I’d dance with you anywhere, any time, to any song. Especially Lionel Richie.”
“Who knew ‘Say You, Say Me’ had such profound meaning to you.”
“Only now that I’ve danced to it with you,” he said against my lips before he took them for his.
The dance slowed to a sway so we could concentrate on what was important, the kiss carrying on until someone bumped into us.
“Get a room!” Georgie called before Jett spun them away, smiling.
And the air was ripe with joy.
“Can we go home now?” he asked, his lips against the shell of my ear.
“Why, Mr. Darcy—anxious to unwrap something or another?”
“Since I saw you walk down the stairs tonight. You’re all I’ve been able to think about. You’re all I’m ever able to think about.” He pressed a kiss to the place where my cheek met my hairline.
“I know the feeling. Should we say goodbye or opt for a French exit?”
“French. Always French.”
He took my hand, and with those immovable smiles, we threaded through the crowd and out the door, unnoticed by Collin and Ruby, who were busy canoodling at their post.
Liam stepped to the curb, lifting a hand with a whistle splitting his lips, and within seconds, a taxi pulled up, its exhaust huffing in the cold, December air. Feather-light snow danced in the headlight beams, melting the moment it touched the pavement.
The cab was warm, but I slid into Liam all the same, grateful for his arm around me and the velvet of his bespoke coat against my bare skin. Once he gave directions, we settled in, silently watching the city beyond the windows with that bone deep contentment that only comes in those moments of perfect happiness.
It was nearly Christmas, and the trees lining the traverse across Central Park were strung with lights. It was that magical time of year when dreams came true and new beginnings were around the corner. And I felt that change, felt the shift slowing as we neared our destination.
Because I had him, and suddenly, the world was easy.
I wondered if it would always be this way. Would we always be so happy? It didn’t seem fair, to have so much. But after so long with so little, I knew what I had without question.
It was a gift I wouldn’t waste.
We made it home just as I’d dozed off. When he exited, he reached in for my hand and helped me out, my limbs heavy and tired. Still we were quiet—me in the warm dust of sleep and Liam turned inward. But I didn’t mind, used to his thoughtful silence. Rather than fill the air, I languidly nestled into his side.
Once we were through the elevator and the front door, I sighed happily, glad to be home.
As I turned to face him, I said, “What a perfect night—” before he interrupted me with a kiss.
It was a languid thing, a simmering heat. A slow tasting, a sweet savoring. I felt his hands on my waist, on my back, felt his solid body against mine. Every breath was filled with the earthy, elemental scent of him, my fingertips occupied with the feel of his velvet coat. But what arrested me most were his lips and the sweep of his tongue, the gentle way he told me without words how he loved me and how he hoped I loved him.
I do, I do, I do, I said with my silent mouth.
When he broke the kiss, his eyes never met mine, hung on my lips. He thumbed the swell of my bottom lip.
“Come with me.” His voice, low and raspy, woke something in me like a yawning cat, stretching and purring and content.
He took my hand and led me upstairs. I took the moment to admire him—his body was a marvel of broad shoulders and wide chest, tapered waist and strong legs. His stature sang of a timeless man, a man who could just as easily wield an ax for chopping wood or on an ancient battlefield. In these clothes, in this house, he was a tamed beast. And best of all, he was mine.
The lights were low in our bedroom, and when I moved to raise the dimmer, he stopped me. Once he had my gaze, he looked toward our bed, and I followed him, stilling when I saw what he’d intended.
On the smooth stretch of white comforter sat a small velvet box.
When I glanced back at him, flushed and unsure of what this meant, I caught him without armor, without walls, just a man who loved a woman enough for forever.
“Liam,” I breathed.
A flicker of a smile. His hand on the small of my back, nudging me forward.
In a trance, I floated toward the little box, my mind so full, it was empty of thought, filled with a thousand murmurs. The box was in my hand. A creak, and it was open.
In the dark cushion sat a diamond ring with a sizable, glittering stone. Somehow, it managed to look simple despite its ostentatious size, ringed with smaller diamonds that twinkled with the trembling of my hand.
When I turned to him, I found him on one knee.
“I wonder if you’ve always known that I love you,” he said, taking my hand. “Have you realized that I was empty until you? That my life wasn’t a life at all—it was four blank walls with no windows. I didn’t know until the day you forgave me. I didn’t know. Not until you. I know that I should wait. I know the responsible thing to do would be to wait the recommended year, have a long engagement, plan and prepare for the future. But I’ve done the responsible thing my entire life. I’ve planned and prepared. I’ve done what’s expected of me. But when it comes to the unexpected rightness of you, I don’t want to wait for our future. I don’t need time to know that I love you. For all of my certainty, I know this certainty above all—there is only you. There will only ever be you. Marry me, so we can start our future now. Marry me, because I will never be more sure than I am right now that I belong to you, and you belong to me. Marry me, so we can begin forever now.”
His eyes were touched with hope and fear—I saw them through a well of tears, driven to spill down my cheeks by my teeming heart.
Marry him, marry him, marry him, it whispered.
I had no words but one, the most important one, and it slipped out of me in a breath.
“Yes.”
His smile broke loose, and then he was standing. His arms around me, his lips pressed to mine. When he broke the kiss, it was to laughter, to faces held by loving hands, to eyes shining and hearts on fire, burning for each other.
He took the box from me, held the ring between his thumb and forefinger, held my left wrist so he could slide it down the length of my finger, where it would stay until the end of time. For a moment, we stared at it, his thumb stroking the fine bones of my hand.
Our eyes met. Held. Spoke a thousand words in silence.
And he kissed me.
Our hearts were threaded together with that kiss, a kiss touched with the shaky disbelief that came with a dream coming true. It was an infinite kiss, stretching to the horizon of time, a river that wound on forever.
My throat closed with a sob that parted us, and my fingertips brushed my smiling lips.
He pressed his forehead to mine. Our eyes closed.
When I mastered myself, I leaned back so I could see his beautiful face. I traced the lines of the love I found there with my gaze, sweeping over the planes, noting every angle, committing every rise, every fall to my memory.
And when I was through, one side of my smile ticked up a little higher as I reached for his cravat.
The muslin whispered as I pulled the knot free and unwound the crisp fabric, exposi
ng his neck to me. The strong column, the knot at his throat, the hollow at the base. Hungry hands slipped into the warm space between his vest and jacket, and he let go of my waist to shrug it off, tossing it behind him blindly. His eyes were on my lips, but he didn’t move for them. He wouldn’t, not until I was through, simply because he knew this was my wish, and he held my wishes above his.
One, two, three vest buttons and all the way down to the bottom, and then it was gone. But his hands cupped my arms, his eyes on fire, holding me still so he could kiss me. And all time for stillness was through.
The kiss never ended, only breathed and stretched and paused to taste skin or give space to watch wandering hands. Breathlessly, he turned me, unfastening my buttons with deft, steady hands until it slipped down my arms and to the floor. The tug of a string, and my stays were loose. A turn, and he untied the straps, first one, then the other. His eyes drank in the sight of me as he brushed the swells of my breasts, pinned and welling from my stays, with the back of his hand, his index finger extended, as if to prolong the sensation of my skin against his.
And I stayed still simply because I knew this was his wish, and I held his wishes above mine.
A firm pull, and the stays were loose enough to slide over my hips and to the floor with the rest of it. The pull of another tie, and my petticoat joined them.
I stood in the dim room in my thin chemise, set aflame by his appraisal, lit by the strike of a match when his gaze met my skin.
“A man shouldn’t be this lucky,” he said quietly, earnestly. “It leaves so much to lose.”
“Well, know one thing …” I stepped into him, feeling the heat of his skin through muslin. “If you always love me this fiercely, you will never lose me.”
His eyes closed as if he’d been pardoned from an unknown crime. When they opened again, they were devout in their promise.
“Until my last breath. There’s no other way to love you.”
Before I could speak, he descended, sweeping me into his arms, our lips a hot, yawning seam. I sank into the bed, held in place by his hips until my blind hands fumbled for the front buttons of his pants. He kicked off his boots—mine I’d left with my forgotten clothes on the floor—rising to his knees as he reached over his shoulders to rid himself of his billowing shirt. My hands were still blind for my eyes’ occupation with the stretch of his torso, the curve of his shoulders, then up to his face, his lids heavy with desire, his lips plumped from the work of mine.