“I can’t take it anymore,” she moaned.
“You can,” he insisted with a kiss to the soft flesh of her inner thigh.
Her fingers dug into the soft pillow on the oak of the seat. The hot window at her back, the soft cushion, the hard seat, Devon’s heated breath and silken tongue, the scratch of his fingers on her thighs. The memory of his words echoing in her ears. She broke apart and floated into wherever it was one went when one became all sensation. All feeling. Pure heart.
He rested his cheek against her leg, panting.
Well, she panted too, and she tangled her fingers in the silky nest of his hair. “Good thing,” she said, finding her lips still worked, and her brain was capable of putting words to ideas and putting those words in the correct order, “you do not have a valet to be upset with me for messing your hair.”
He pushed himself up and sat next to her in the window, gathering her into his arms. “My hair looks fantastic no matter how perfect or mussed.”
She slapped his chest, but she could not argue with him, though she sorely wished she could.
When energy had returned to her mind and strength to her legs, she stood and smoothed her skirts. “I do not have your perfection of figure and hair, but how do I look?”
“Irresistible.”
Lillian rolled her eyes and turned to the looking glass. She did not look any worse for the wear… or for the pleasure, as the case may be. She traipsed out of the room.
He followed her, and she gasped as he pushed her against the hallway wall, his lips descending, unavoidable and hungry. She wanted him again, now, and forever.
But they had to stop. If they did not, they would end up back in the room and this time on the bed. Just where she wanted to be. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss.
“Devon.” His name on her lips was a kiss and a promise. “I love—” She swallowed, then froze and jerked away from him. She’d been about to say…
She loved him. But she could not tell him that, did not know why she couldn’t, just that she could not.
He studied her with a quizzical brow, waiting.
She attempted a smile. It did not even tremble. Miracle, that. Then she settled on the right word. “This.” She pressed her palms flat against his chest.Thump, thump thump—his heart against his bone and muscle, against her soft, open hands. “I love this. Between us.”
His brow flattened and so did his usually expression-filled face. He grasped one of her hands and lifted it to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. “Me, too.Thisis rather enjoyable.”
She managed a noncommittal noise deep in the back of her throat, smoothed her skirts once more, scooted around his big body, and made her way down the hall.
He stepped in with her stride easily, straightening his jacket and waistcoat. “Win or lose, Lil Bean,” he said without looking at her, “our future is decided tonight.”
Their future. Would their years together always prove a constant struggle—to acquire, to impress, to live on their own terms and in their own ways?
She offered him a reassuring smile, though with his focus so solidly forward, he could not have seen it. They settled into the coach, sitting on either side. An avenue of space, an ocean of unsaid words rose between them. Lapped at her ankles, it did, soaked her gown. She’d drown in it.
What would he do if he lost tonight? Would he break down and use his family’s money to buy Frederick’s? Would he let her help him? Or would he give up on his dream?
What wouldshedo if she lost tonight, if showing up, gleaming husband in tow, was not enough to quell the whispers? She threw the worry into the ocean between them. She would not place even more distractions before him this night. Or before herself. Worry was only a distraction. If she—they—stayed focused on the solution, all would be well. Papa always said something like that, didn’t he?
She stared at Devon, but he stared out the window. This damnedocean. She must cross it. If they were divided, they’d never succeed. She dove right into it and slipped across the space between them to sit beside him. She threaded their fingers together, and his strong hand naturally clasped around her own, though he did not look her way. Fine. Some things were easier saidnotstaring into pale blue eyes.
She turned her head away from him and spoke to her murky reflection in the glass. “You alone are worthy, Devon. You are intelligent and creative. You make me laugh and… and want.” Want so many things—his body, yes, and quite possibly a gaggle of children, certainly a mug full of coffee on a winter’s morning, but mostly his heart. “And if tonight”—she swallowed, squeezed his hand so hard she felt bone and sinew—“if I were a real fairy godmother, I’d give you your heart’s desire. Iwould. Alas… I’m but an inventor’s daughter, so… I suppose what I’m saying is that if time runs out tonight, and everything fades away, goes all… pumpkinish,I’llstill be here.”
She held her breath, waiting, though for anger or… what she did not know.
Finally, he turned away from the window and tugged her closer. Those blue eyes—how could something so cool burn so hot?
“Breathe, Lil Bean,” he said. “You’re turning red.”
She inhaled deeply, feeling giddy at the sudden rush of so much air that smelled so unmistakably like him.
He traced the curve of her cheek with his fingertip. “Things will not gopumpkinish.”
