The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(203)

He tried to lift her head. "No, please, I need-"



"I know what you need. To be loved unconditionally, with no forbidden joys. No boundaries or restraints. No more fears."



She put her head back down, until his gasp told her he was on the edge. Her oily hand slicked over him and then herself, and she quickly swung her leg over his hip and took him inside her with one huge ripple.



He exploded in the throes of such uncontrollable desire that she had to hold him down on the bed by both shoulders. His shout of passion must have alerted the entire household, but she was past caring as she felt her own climax rushing through her.



She stretched up to kiss him, but in a moment she had been flipped onto her back. He filled her, the head of his manhood surging, completing her.



Will lay prone on his wife's supple body, unable to move so much as a muscle. He could feel her breathing, hear her heart beat, feel a tiny little pulse deep inside her. Life, love, it was all here, all he needed.



He said as much to her, and she sighed and kissed him. "Me too. And to think we almost lost this."



"Please, Elizabeth, don't remind me. I can't bear to think about it. All those weeks I waited for you to come back to me. It was torture not to be able to speak to you, see your enchanting eyes looking at me with love."



"But I'm here now, darling. Now, and always. I promise."



He sighed. "I hope so. I just wonder—"



"I know. I've wondered too. What sort of bargain we've made with the gods."



His breath whooshed from his lungs in relief. At last, one of them had dared to say it. "I don't know. It scares me. I've never experienced—"



"I have. Well, not directly. It was Jonathan Deveril, actually."



"Your special friend," he said, trying to keep the jealousy from his tone.



"Yes, my special friend. He should have been my brother in law. He and Jane—"



He shook his head, exasperated with himself. "I've been a fool, haven't I? Jealous of him for no reason."



"Not a fool, darling, but a man in love. But 'tis no matter now. What I wanted to say was, he made a bargain with God to save Clifford and Thomas at Cuidad Roderigo. Or so he thought. He said he was certain they were both dead, and yet after he prayed, he saw they were alive, with hardly a mark on them."



Will's jaw set grimly. "Remarkable, but still, Christian or pagan, what difference does it make? The gods do exact their price."



She stroked one soothing hand down his shoulder. "But never anything we can't bear. Jonathan lost Jane, but it was her choice. And he found Pamela, and she saved Sophie from one of Jane's violators."



He nodded. "I can see the pattern. I'm just not sure I can bear any more suffering after nearly losing you."



"I know what you fear. But life is love, and loss, and gain."



"I know. The baby—"



"Will be fine. I promise. But we may lose Parks."



He sighed heavily. "Can you see it too?"



She considered. "No. It's all black in the cave, then a single streak of light, a bolt from the heavens."



"Where?" he asked in a whisper.



She paused again. "In my hands."



He shook his head. "It makes no sense to me."



She cradled his head against her bosom. "Trust to fate then. It's all any of us can do."



He rolled onto her, and they banished their fears in each other's arms.





Fitzsimmons seethed, pacing up and down the church aisle. "You've told me to trust to fate, but after all these weeks we still have nothing!"



His companion shrugged. "What difference does it make? Only a madman would risk invading in the winter."



Fitzsimmons' eyes glittered. "A madman, or a genius."



"What are you saying?"



"Maybe now is the perfect time. Or not exactly now, but the Christmas season, when many of the soldiers will be on leave to see their families."



"That's only three weeks away!"



"Ample time. We send word, and watch all the pieces on the chessboard move into place."



His companion said in exasperation, "But what about the guns—"



Fitzsimmons shrugged. "We might not find them, but then no one else will either."



"Joyce must know," the other speculated.



"If he does, he's been spending so much time in his house with that whore Elizabeth we can't even follow him to try to find—"



"He was always bookish."



"Hah, is that what you call it?" Fitzsimmons snorted.



His colleague shook his head. "I must go. I'll be missed."