Letting out a deep breath, he released the pressure of his lips and nibbled tenderly at her mouth. Little whimpers of pleasure broke from her. She moved even closer. He felt as if he could explode from his want of this woman, his wife. Their mouths opened to one another—a prelude to that most intimate connection.
She did not kiss like a maiden. Even when his tongue slid into the warmth of her mouth, she did not recoil but welcomed it as greedily as a babe suckling its mother's breast.
"You need no instruction in kissing," he eventually murmured. "Your kisses are perfection." He sighed. He wanted her so much, but did she want him in the same way? He did not know how to ask. He did not want to offend her.
"I have enjoyed it very much." Her voice was as breathless as one who'd been . . . chopping wood!
He cupped his hand at her pretty little face. "I could never want any other woman for my wife." It wasn't a declaration of love, but it was close. He had never told a woman he loved her. He thought he was, indeed, falling in love with Emma, but he could never utter those words until he was certain.
Her torso pressed against him. God help me, he thought.
"Do you recall the vows we said before the priest at St. George's on our wedding day?" she whispered.
"What part?"
"The part about my body would be yours and yours would be mine."
She does want me!
Their eyes locked. He trembled so much and his breath was so labored he wasn't sure he could speak. "Does that mean you would not object if I were to . . . well, be your husband in every respect—just as the priest read?"
"I would not object."
He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Their bed.
Chapter 21
He hadn't said it last night, but Emma knew Adam loved her. She now knew what it felt like to be cherished. Each caress, each kiss demonstrated his tender feelings toward her. She knew, too, what it felt like to be a wife. She knew what it was to be in love.
But she had not uttered those words to him, either. He must say it first. She had already made all the advances.
On this, the last day of their journey, they sat very close in the carriage, and neither she nor her husband seemed able to keep their hands off one another. She could not remove the smile from her face or the effervescence from her heart. She could shout her love of Adam from the spire of every church between here and London. What had she ever done to deserve such happiness?
Just as on the first day of their journey, she did not want this to come to an end. His house was awfully large, and as lovely as it was, she preferred the intimacy of this coach. It kept them so close, a sheet of paper could not have wedged between them.
"Are you not looking forward to being home?" Lady Sophia asked her.
Emma shook her head. "I have enjoyed every minute of this excursion—except for that one horrid night." Her gaze dropped to the red circles of oozing flesh at her wrists. They were healing. She wondered if Adam's tender kisses last night had aided in their visible recovery.
Even though that one night had been horrendous, all her physical and mental suffering was obliterated when Adam had drawn her into his arms. He had then given her to understand that losing her had made him realize how important she was to him.
Every second of her misery had been worth it for it solidified their love for one another.
"What could you possibly find to enjoy about being cooped up like this for days on end?" Lady Sophia asked.
"Many things. I acquired the experience of staying in an inn. Because it was a new experience for me, the anticipation was every bit as exciting as the actual stay."
The expression on William's face was one of incredulousness. "You mean you really enjoyed staying at an inn?"
Adam chuckled. "Something as lackluster as building supplies being drawn down the Strand inordinately excites my wife."
"It's because I'd spent all of my life in a village of less than one hundred people."
"Oh, dear," Lady Sophia exclaimed. "That certainly would limit the marriage pool."
Emma laughed. "Indeed. I had but one suitor, and the poor fellow was exceedingly dimwitted. He gave me a fright when he told me he'd proclaimed his love for me by carving into the Queen Elizabeth tree on the village common. I was relieved when I saw it for he misspelled my name."
"How could one misspell Emma?" Lady Sophia asked, her brows lowered.
"I-M-A."
They all laughed.