“But once you reveal your interest in marrying me, he may demand that you leave the estate. You don’t know Rupert.”
“And he doesn’t know me. If he kicks me out, I will simply come back for you. Besides, we have a secret weapon of which he knows nothing.”
She frowned. “What weapon?”
“Your friends, the princesses. They will aid us.”
And for the first time, Emma smiled. Then she laughed. “You are right. They will. Ariadne loves to interfere, especially when it’s for something she considers a good cause.”
Looping her arms around his neck, she kissed him, a happiness she hadn’t thought to ever feel again rushing through her veins. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the moment, holding nothing back as she lost herself in his kiss. He lifted her off her feet and took her deep, so that she could no longer tell where she ended and he began. Their mouths merged, their breaths mingling into one. His touch swept her up to the heavens and let her know what it must feel like to have wings.
Soaring, she sank gratefully into the joy.
Chapter 25
Nick sank into their embrace, her kisses like a homecoming. Having her in his arms was heaven, a benediction that searched out all the dark, empty spaces inside him and filled them with light. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized just how desolate he’d been, as if he’d been holding his breath all these weeks and only now was able to breathe again.
Emma kissed him back, her lips moving with warm purpose over his own, her hands clutching his shoulders to hold him near.
He moaned and drew her tighter, his arousal pressed hard against her stomach. Aching to touch her, all of her, he stroked the sleek arch of her spine before roaming downward to cup the rounded curve of her bottom in a wide, appreciative palm.
She was the one to moan this time, the sound reverberating between them with raw, hungry need. Spurred on by the sound, he kissed her with a fierce possession that made the world tilt.
He was reaching to unfasten the buttons on the back of her gown when a dull bang echoed in the distance, as if someone had slammed a door somewhere inside the house.
He paused and so did she, the two of them growing suddenly still. His gaze locked with the velvety blue of her eyes, her breath soughing in little pants from between her parted lips.
He wasn’t in much better shape than she, his muscles trembling with the force of his desire. Giving his head an abrupt shake, he tried to clear some of the hazy passion from his brain. “You make me lose my head,” he murmured in her ear.
“You make me lose mine too.”
“I suppose I should take you back to your room,” he said reluctantly.
“Hmm, I suppose so,” she sighed in resignation.
Yet neither of them made any effort to end their embrace.
“Of course, it might be better for you to stay here for a while,” he mused. “We wouldn’t want to risk getting caught by whoever it is roaming the corridors.”
“No, that could be disastrous.” She smiled, then stretched up on her toes to press quick, drowsy kisses to his mouth, her touch as delicate and delicious as butterfly wings. “I think I should definitely stay. Don’t you?”
He shuddered, a tremor chasing down his spine, straight to his shaft. “Yes.”
Yanking her higher against him, he ravished her lips, thrusting his tongue into her mouth in a rhythm that mimicked what he wanted to do in other places and with other parts of his body. He made quick work of the buttons on her dress, then began freeing the laces of her stays.
Suddenly desperate to touch her bare flesh, he pushed down the bodice of her dress and found her breasts, fondling one, then the other, through the thin material of her linen shift. She squirmed and whimpered, her nipples turning to sharp points beneath his questing fingers.
Time spiraled outward on invisible ribbons, entwining them in a haze so scorching it was a wonder neither of them were burned. Despite the careful amount of wine he’d consumed earlier, his head swam as if he were drunk.
And perhaps I am, he thought hazily. Drunk on happiness and love and passion. God knows he wanted her, his shaft hard and aching where it strained insistently against the buttons of his falls.
He hadn’t touched a woman since he’d lain with Emma.
The first time.
The only time.
But he didn’t want another woman.
Only her.
Now and forever.
She is mine, he thought, dappling her skin with kisses.
Mine to love.
Mine to possess until death us do part.
They may not have taken the actual marriage vows yet, but to him she was already his wife and no man would ever keep them apart again.
She must have agreed, because her small hands slid underneath his shirt to find the flat expanse of skin and hair just above his waistband. He drew in his stomach on an unsteady gasp, his arousal giving a maddened throb.