"Please, sir, this is too sudden, and you are far too importunate."
"I cannot help it," he rasped. "I can't stop thinking about all we have shared. You know how I feel about you. I would like nothing more than to ask your brother for your hand. Please allow me to hope at least. But to have an answer from your own sweet lips would be more than I could possibly ask for."
He began kissing her hand. She waited for the tingle, the wildfire sweetness. But there was nothing. No spark, no desire, no surge of passion in her loins.
What was wrong with her? Was she such a wanton that only an encounter in the dark with a nameless faceless stranger could fill her with such delight?
"Darling!" His mouth came down on hers for a brief moment, and she waited for the fire to course through her veins. But there was still nothing.
"Please, can you take off your mask?" she asked, her voice rock-steady.
He smiled broadly. "Ah, but that would be cheating."
"I don't think so. I need to see your face. See if you are in earnest. It's not an unreasonable request considering you've just declared your intention to speak to my brotherThomas."
He removed the mask, and Marcus Fitzsimmons stood before her.
She was glad her mask covered her own face, for she was a complete state of confusion. She had known it would be him. But his expression was like…
"My dear, we shall be so happy together. This was meant to be. Ever since I first saw you on the beach the day of the storm…."
He trailed off as he realized his error. He was not supposed to have been anywhere near the beach that day.
This was the declaration Elizabeth had been waiting for, but somehow it did not strike her with the delight she had expected it to. She started and clasped her hands together nervously.
"Perhaps your regard for me was somewhat impetuous that day?" she asked quietly.
He ran his hand down her back. "I don't think so. You are all woman. Why should I not desire you?"
She waited for any sensation at all other than nervousness, but none came. She lingered, allowing his hand to travel down yet further, more boldly. Still nothing.
"Shall I go now, go to speak with your brother?"
Something in her posture must have given her away, for as the silence lengthened Fitzsimmons asked, "Unless you think it's too soon, that I should wait?"
He was chomping at the bit with impatience, and wondering why she kept staring at him like a wide-eyed ingenue.
"I hardly know what to think," she said truthfully, before fleeing out of the anteroom and down to the other end of the terrace for some fresh air.
She took several deep breaths and gazed up at the stars. The clock struck midnight, and she tugged off her swirling cloak at last, and untied the silk mask with a sigh.
Elizabeth did not jump as the warm arms came around her waist from behind, for she had expected him to follow. Only now she went on fire. Whatever had been lacking in these past few days and nights since her fateful encounter in the cave, her cup began to runneth over as the hard hands pressed her front most intimately, a teasing finger's breadth from her breast in one instance, and from her delicate mound through the light fabric of her gown in the other.
His warm breath fanned her cheeks, and his husky whisper caressed her ear. "Darling. You look so lovely, I just can't help myself. I've tried to be aloof, let you make a choice without any pressure from me. But these last few days have been torture. Now, touching you like this, I just know we belong together."
She pressed her back into his body, feeling the tell-tale bulge pressing against her buttocks. Her eyes closed as she surrendered utterly, blocking out any other sensation except that of the touch of her lover.
"I know it now too," she whispered. "I've been so confused. I hardly knew what to think. Whether what we shared in the cave was real or not.
"Now you hold me like this, and they're back, all the wonderful feelings you gifted me with when you held me in your arms, touched me until I melted. The heart and the body never lie. I want you so much," she admitted shyly.
He turned her into his arms, and kissed her torridly, all their pent-up longings feeding each other's desire. His mouth slanted across hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth so possessively she felt as though he were putting his stamp upon her. Molding her to his body and mind until there was no he and she, but a mystical oneness. She curved her fingers up his neck through his long hair to his scalp, and again his shoulder went on fire as she stroked it.
The pain was out of all proportion to the lightness of her touch, and he thought once more with a superstitious shiver of all the myths about the healing power of love.