Unforgivable(88)
Afterwards, he lifted his head and opened his eyes, wanting to see her. She was beautiful, eyes half closed, face flushed and smiling at him, happy and loving and brimming over with pleasure.
And his.
By half past four it was fully dark, and Rose was tucked cosily into the shelter of Gil’s big body.
“Are you awake?” he rumbled into her ear.
She squirmed and laughed, the low reverberations of his voice ticklish.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He turned her in his arms and kissed her, a long, slow, unhurried kiss, and she kissed him back happily.
When they broke apart, he said, “Where shall we live?”
“I love it here,” she murmured, tucking herself against him again, her head on his shoulder. “But do you realise I’ve never been to Stanhope Abbey? I should go there at least once, I think. It’s terrible form to be the countess of somewhere one’s never been.”
He chuckled softly. “Stanhope Abbey after Christmas, then?”
She smiled against his shoulder. “Yes.”
“You’ll love it,” he said dreamily. “It’s beautiful. Not wild like Northumbria. But lovely. Great rolling green downs, and the best farmland anywhere.”
She snorted. “We’ll see,” she said, reserving judgment.
Gil kissed the top of her head.
“May I ask you something?” she whispered after a while.
He stroked her hair. “Of course.”
“Do you still love Tilly?” She added hurriedly, “I shan’t mention it again, but—well, I’d like to know.”
Again, his hand smoothed over her head. “No, I don’t. And even when I did, it wasn’t the way I love you. I loved her as a boy loves.”
“What do you mean?”
“Silly, worshipful stuff. She was like a goddess to me, I suppose.”
“And I’m not?” Rose demanded, lifting her chin to look up at him, only half-jokingly.
He shifted his position to meet her gaze, but his expression was shrouded by the darkness, and she couldn’t read him. “You are better than any goddess. You are the very real woman that I love, and what I feel for you is deeper, more profound, and much more wonderful than anything I could feel for a mere goddess.”
The seed of hope inside her, the one that had sprouted in Persephone’s temple, had been slowly growing ever since. And now, suddenly, dramatically, it flowered. A thousand blooms opened their petals in her heart. She felt her eyes flood and turned her face back into Gil’s shoulder, pressing a few kisses there between the tears.
“Sorry,” she mumbled on a half laugh, half sob. “But if you will say lovely things like that to me, you must expect me to leak all over you.”
“Leak away,” he said, and she heard the smile in his voice. “I mean every word. Oh, Tilly seemed perfect to me when I was twenty: she was sweet and domestic, the epitome of womanhood, I thought, back then. I suppose even recently she was still a sort of ideal at the back of my mind—but then Eve Adams came along, and she was so passionate and exciting. I thought no one could eclipse her.” He kissed her nose and chuckled softly. “But then, there was Rose. And when I got to know Rose, I saw that she had it all. The passion and excitement and the sweetness too. And more besides. Rose was kind and quick and bright and surprising. She made me laugh like no one else does. And there’s not a woman in the world—Tilly Drayton included—who can hold a candle to her.”
Rose gave another hiccoughy sort of laugh-sob and kissed his shoulder again.
“I love you,” she murmured when she could manage words, and the phrase whispered over his skin like a blessing. A benediction.
And then they were drifting, drifting, in the December dark. Until finally, and at long, long last, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.