Mary stretched beneath his gaze, a little embarrassed and at the same time aroused. Royce stretched out on the bed beside her, propping himself up on one elbow, and began to kiss her. He kissed first her mouth, then her face, then moved down her neck, tasting, it seemed, every square inch of her body. As he kissed her, his hand explored, lingering, teasing a response from her. Mary quivered beneath his touch, her legs moving in restless desire. Yet still he glided over her with an agonizing slowness.#p#分页标题#e#
Gently he opened her legs, his fingers trailing up the inside of her thighs, first one and then the other, skimming close to but never touching the heated center of her desire. He took her breast in his mouth and tended to it with a single-minded devotion, using his lips and teeth and tongue to stoke her pleasure, arousing her to an ever higher peak until she thought she must surely explode.
Then he showed her how far still she was from reaching the heights of her passion. His hand slid in between her legs. She jerked at the intimate touch, gasping. Opening the slick, hot folds, he stroked her, pulling tiny whimpers of need from her, driving her desire ever higher. Mary moved her hips, aching and desperate, and dug her hands into his thick hair, her fingers clenching as desire knotted and coiled inside her.
“Take me, Royce,” she said again.
This time he could hold out no longer, and he moved between her legs, thrusting deep within her. Mary choked back a cry of satisfaction as he filled her. She clutched his back as he moved within her. His skin was hot and slick with sweat; his breath rasped in her ear. She was surrounded by the sound and scent and feel of him, melded to him in the ferocious fire of their mutual passion.
He cried out, burying his face in her neck, and Mary wrapped herself around him, clinging to him, as their climax took them both, flinging them into that shattering realm where they existed only in each other.
Royce collapsed upon her. Mary smiled to herself, luxuriating in the weight of him. She wanted to stay in this moment as long as she could, drifting in utter and complete satisfaction, her body and mind drained, connected to Royce in a deep and primitive way, able to believe that right here, right now, she loved and was loved in return.
There was a light tap at the door, and a voice called softly, “Sir? Sir? Master Fitz sent me up to see if you were ready.”
With a muttered curse, Royce rolled from her. “Yes,” he called, his voice coming out hoarse and low. He cleared his throat and said again, “Yes. Tell him I’ll be right there.”
The servant answered and went away. Royce turned to look down at Mary. He started to speak, and she raised her hand, laying it across his mouth.
“No. Please don’t. Don’t spoil it.”
“Bloody hell!” He swung out of bed and came around to pick up his clothes. Shoving them back on, he sat down and put on his stockings and boots, and finally covered his white shirt with a dark jacket.
Royce came back to the side of the bed, looming over her. He bent down, placing his hands on either side of her, and looked into her eyes.
“You will marry me,” he said flatly. “I promise you. You will marry me or no one at all.”
He bent and kissed her one last time, a hard, possessive kiss, then turned and strode out of the room.
“I know,” Mary whispered into the dark. “I know.”
* * *
Mary dressed and slipped down the hall to her room. Her sleep was troubled, and she sprang awake a few hours later when she heard Lily, Camellia, and Sam leaving their rooms. Mary went to her door and opened it a crack to peer out. Lily and Camellia had already passed by; she could hear their soft footsteps on the stairs. But Sam was still walking along the corridor. A door opened, and Rose stepped out. She was clad in her nightgown, her black hair tumbled around her shoulders, and she reached out to Sam. He took her in his arms and pulled her close, bending his head to hers.
Not wanting to intrude on their tender moment, Mary closed her door. If she had had any doubts that Rose would decide to marry Sam, they were gone now. Smiling, she returned to her bed.
Mary and Rose had breakfast that morning with Oliver, Miss Dalrymple, and Charlotte. Cousin Charlotte was notorious for rising late; indeed, Mary had not eaten breakfast with her since she had arrived at Willowmere. However, this morning she looked as bright-eyed as if it were the middle of the afternoon, and though she managed to keep quiet about the day’s events in front of the servants, it was obvious that she was ready to burst with excitement. Mary was not hungry in the slightest, but she forced herself to eat to keep up appearances. Rose, she noted, could only toy with her food.#p#分页标题#e#