Still Imogen could find no words. She was dizzy with the whirl of emotions—first such utter despair, followed by such staggering joy she was afraid to grasp onto it. She reached up, gingerly touching his face, his lips. He clasped her hand, pulling it to his mouth, pressing a fervent kiss to her skin.
“I have been a fool,” he said, his eyes roaming greedily over her face. “I was so blind to the truth that it nearly cost me you. If I had only realized before. It came on me so gradually, I couldn’t see it for what it was. Though I think I have loved you since I saw you transformed at that masquerade ball.”
Imogen felt a sudden dimming of her joy. He had loved her since she had changed into a completely different person? She began to pull away from him, but he held tight.
“Since,” he continued, reaching a finger under her chin to tilt her face up, “I realized that I’d rather have you as you are, and not as a copy of every other debutante out for the Season. Since I realized that I could not deny the pull you had on me. You ground me, make me a better man. My life was a shell before you stumbled into it. And thank God you did.”
He pulled her flush against him and she opened her arms to him. His breath stirred the tendrils of her hair that had escaped her braid as he embraced her.
“Marry me, Imogen,” he pleaded, his lips moving at her temple, his hands cradling her like the most precious of treasures. “Marry me, and make me the happiest of men.”
She smiled into his shoulder as all the doubt and sorrow in her heart melted away. “Yes,” she whispered.
He stilled, and then pulled away just enough to look into her face. His eyes, dim in the candlelight, flared with a fierce joy. “Say it again.”
She laughed. “Yes, I will marry you, Caleb.”
Before the words had completely left her mouth, his lips covered hers. His fingers splayed over her hips, digging into their roundness, pulling her against him. Her thin nightgown was barely a barrier to the hard press of his body. Her skin felt as if it were bursting into flame. She reached up, her fingers diving through the thick softness of his hair, her heart singing as he bent over her, forming his body to hers. She felt wrapped up in him, safe and cherished.
His lips moved from her mouth, trailing over her cheek, to the sensitive skin near her ear. “I love you,” he growled against her flesh, his voice sending waves of pleasure through her body, his words sending pure joy to her heart. “I love you so very much, Imogen.”
She gasped as his lips worked a path down her neck to her collarbone. She strained against him, needing more, needing to be closer to him. “Please, Caleb,” she moaned, her fingers tugging at his clothing.
His hands released her and she nearly collapsed, her legs were so weak from wanting him. But the world suddenly tilted, and she was cradled against his chest for a short moment before being lowered gently to her bed.
“I will get a special license,” he promised, his lips trailing down to her breast. He took possession of the straining tip, and Imogen nearly choked at the feel of his hot mouth through the thin material.
“Yes, you will,” she panted, unable to bear the thought of even one night without him in her bed.
“We can marry as soon as tomorrow,” he went on, sitting up and rapidly divesting himself of his clothing, his eyes hot on her, raking her body with fierce possessiveness.
Imogen chuckled low in her throat. “You may have a battle ahead of you. Do you think my mother will allow her daughter to marry a marquess and not gloat to all of society about it?”
“I don’t give a damn about your mother, or for society either.”
She smiled, getting up on her knees, the better to watch as he stripped off his clothing. “We can give her two weeks,” she suggested. The heat between her legs only grew hotter as his muscled chest was revealed. She cleared her throat and adjusted her spectacles.
“One week,” he growled, looking at her, devouring her. His face was pure need. Need for her.
Imogen felt a power she never had before shoot through her at the realization that this incredible man hungered for her. And not just her body. He hungered for her love as well, so much so that he had raced across counties to get to her, had scaled a three-story building to proclaim his love for her.
She smiled and placed her spectacles on the bedside table before, reaching down, she located the hem of her nightgown and pulled it slowly over her head, letting it fall from her fingers to the carpet. Caleb watched her with an intent, raw yearning. She reached for her braid and brought it over her shoulder, working the plait apart. His eyes fastened on the movement, on how the strands came free and curled over her breast. Her nipples hardened under his stare.
“Sweet heaven, Imogen,” he rasped, shoving his breeches and drawers over his lean hips, discarding them on the floor. And then he kneeled on the bed before her, pulling her into his arms, his body pressed tight to hers.
Imogen gave a long sigh of pleasure at the sensation of his naked flesh against her own, at his arousal pressing into her stomach. She was overcome by the undeniable urge to touch him. Her lips pressed into the strained cords in his neck, lathing him with her tongue, pulling at his skin with her mouth. A ragged breath escaped him. He fell back into the softness of the bed, bringing her with him, pulling her over him.
Imogen gave a small squeak of surprise at the change in position. But then she smiled into his skin, reveling in the sense of control it gave her. She continued her attentions, pressing her lips to his chest, taking one of his small, flat nipples in her mouth. He groaned, straining against her.
Suddenly his hands were at her thighs. He gripped them tight, pulled them wide until she was straddling his stomach. Her mouth opened in surprise.
“Can it be done this way as well, then?” she whispered.
A wicked smile spread over his face. “This and so many more, love. And we have the whole of our lives to try them out.”
Imogen’s heart nearly burst from her chest, it felt so full. Blinking back tears, she sat up and, taking hold of his hands, guided them to her hips. “Show me how.”
His lids grew heavy as he regarded her above him. His eyes traveled leisurely over her breasts, her gently rounded stomach, the soft thatch of curls between her legs. Finally, when Imogen thought she could bear it no longer, he lifted her and brought her down on himself.
Imogen gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head at the sensation. He filled her so completely she felt there was no room for anything else but him inside of her.
“Like this,” he said, his voice strained as he gripped her hips tight and moved her rhythmically, first up and nearly off of him, then back down the hard length of him. And then he removed his hands.
Imogen began with small gyrations, testing the position, trying to get a sense of motion. Pure fire shot through her as she rubbed against him. Her eyes focused on Caleb’s face, watched as he threw back his head and the strong cords of his neck stood out in harsh relief. She tried another small circle with her hips, saw him gasp. At the sight of his pleasure, her uncertainty melted away.
She quickly found her rhythm, riding him, the pressure building in her own body to a dizzying height. His fingers dug into her thighs, his breath coming in short, harsh pants. Faster and faster she rode until, in a blinding burst of light, her body exploded around him, throbbing with its release. As she collapsed atop his sweat-slicked chest, she heard his own muffled shout of completion. Smiling, she slowly drifted off with his arms tight about her.
• • •
The room was just beginning to lighten with the faintest hint of dawn when Imogen was woken by a soft kiss. She opened her eyes, a smile of pure contentment spreading across her face at the sight of Caleb, adorably tousled, leaning over her. So it had not been a dream after all, she thought happily as he captured her lips once again. Imogen felt an immediate response in her body. She reached for him, deepening the kiss. He groaned softly, his naked body hard against hers under the covers, his arousal immediate. But a moment
later he pulled back.
“I have to go,” he said, regret thickening his voice.
“I know,” she whispered, but then smiled. “You have an archbishop to see, after all.”
His eyes softened as he gazed down at her. “I do.”
Imogen gazed up at Caleb, happiness coursing through her. And for once she didn’t care that her heart was in her eyes. For his heart shone through now as well. She certainly didn’t need her spectacles to see that, she thought with a smile as he lowered his head to hers.
Acknowledgments
The path to publication has been a long and winding one for me. I have been incredibly blessed to have so many people in my corner through it all.
Thank you to my incredible agent, Kim Lionetti, for working tirelessly to find the perfect home for my book.
Thank you to Eliza Kirby, Mallory Soto, and everyone at Diversion Books for your incredible support and for making my lifelong dream become a reality.
Thank you to the Romance Writers of America, to my Golden Heart 2017 Rebelle sisters, and to Silicon Valley RWA for being a safe haven for me through the storms.
Thank you to my beta readers for this book: Maria, Katie, and Heather. Your advice was invaluable.
Thank you to the Le Bou Crew: Julie, Hannah, Joni, Debbie, Rich, and Silvi, for being there for me week after week and making sure I never gave up.
Thank you to Gerry O’Hara for mentoring a wide-eyed fourteen-year-old girl all those years ago and fanning the small spark of a dream into a flame.
Thank you to my late grandfather, Robert Jette’ Sr., for being the best Papa a girl could ever be blessed with and who, with a letter found again years after his passing, set me on the path I’m on today.
And thank you to the friends and family who have been by my side through every up and down, most especially my husband and children. Whether I needed a shoulder to cry on or a cheerleader, you never gave up on me. I love you.
About the Author
Christina Britton developed a passion for writing romance novels shortly after buying her first at the tender age of thirteen. Though for several years she turned to art and put brush instead of pen to paper, she has returned to her first love and is now writing full time. She spends her days dreaming of corsets and cravats and noblemen with tortured souls.
She lives with her husband and two children in the San Francisco Bay Area. A member of Romance Writers of America, she also belongs to her local chapter, Silicon Valley RWA, and is a 2017 RWA® Golden Heart® Winner. You can find her on the web at www.christinabritton.com, Twitter as @cbrittonauthor, or facebook.com/ChristinaBrittonAuthor.
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