“Where are you going?” She hurried after him.
When he reached the gate, he stepped through, slamming it closed between them but leaning over close enough to kiss should she wish.
She did wish, even with every window looking down at them.
“I am going to the Hotel Hestia on Conduit Street. You might remember it from our brief stop yesterday. An hour before midnight, there will be a hack waiting for you in the mews behind Clearford House. If you step into it, you are mine. Do you understand? It is your choice, and you have hours to consider. But once that hack rattles off into the night, once you step into The Hestia… no turning back. And once we close the door behind us, Lady Emma Blackwood, the door in front of us is opened, and we step through it together. Yes?”
He did not wait to hear her answer, and the stout clip of his boots echoed through the crisp evening air.
When she entered the Macintosh townhome, she spoke with Aunt Georgie only vaguely. Had anyone seen them? No. Were there whispers? None had been heard. Was her reputation safe? Only time would tell.
When she waited for her bath, she looked out the window in the direction of the mews. And when the house soaked into silence, stillness, she downed a plain gown, soft slippers, and a black cloak, then crept into the darkness of the night.
The hack was waiting.
The trip was short.
And a man made, entirely it seemed, of shadow and moonlight stepped out to help her onto the street in front of a hotel where windows glowed with the almost otherworldly allure of candlelight. Samuel. Her hand fit perfectly inside his, and his arms felt like home, warm and safe. And when the door of the hotel room on the second floor closed behind him, she threw her cloak and met the eyes of the man she would build a future with.
No more storms in Samuel’s gray gaze, only silver bright and sparking. He pinned her against the door, his hands engulfing either side of her face, digging into her hair as he kissed her hard and thorough and said, “I’m going to marry you, Emma.” A laugh, joyous and lusty. “I am going to make you my wife, and no one can stop me.”
“Good.” She scratched at his throat, delightfully free of a cravat. “Excellent. Because I am going to marry you. You will be my husband, and no one can stopme.”
“God, I adore you.”
And she adored being adored. By him. Only by him because only he knew how to do it, only he had beenmadeto do it.
She loved him. Such simple words. So difficult to say. But she would say them. Somehow. Some way. Because she had been made to love him, too, was the only woman who would know how to do it right.
For now, the words stuck in her throat, so she kissed him, pressed him back, away from the door, unwilling to be trapped, even beneath such a hard, enticing body. He moved where she willed, and he opened where she wished, curving his neck to the side as she explored the strong length of it. No cravat. How curiously exciting. New territory to explore. So much new territory.
And she would see it all, touch it all tonight.
He explored her, too, his fingers seeking pins in her hair and tossing them aside. His hands fisting around long strands and tugging her head back so he could kiss up the line of her neck, over her chin, back to her lips, where they breathed together, tongues tasting, tangling.
The buzzing sensation crawling across her body as her belly tightened, as the place between her legs ached. She knew this feeling—a new acquaintance, but one she hoped to come to know intimately and often.
And she remembered well how buttons could give way to delights. So, she found those marching down his waistcoat, and when she freed them, he shrugged the garment off his body.
Shirtsleeves only now, and he appeared to be in a race with her. Her bodice sagged. When had he untied the tapes of her gown? He’d dragged her chemise up, whispering it between her body and her stays, so he could pull it down her arm and kiss the round of her shoulder while his hands seemed everywhere all at once—back and breasts, jaw and backside. Her limbs quickly turning heavy and slow, and her entire body at risk of dropping into the door at her back, giving in.
Not yet.
She walked him forward, tugging at his shirt, pulling it loose from his waistband, shoving it up until he reached for it, too, his hands crossing in front of him to grasp the hem, finally a glimpse of warm skin and taut muscle and—
Heavens.
She rocked away as if burned. She’d never seen a naked man before. Wasn’t this… wasn’t this a momentous occasion.
He stilled, let the hem of his shirt drop, covering the bewitching stretch of skin, and bent low to murmur between them, “Too fast, luv? Slow down?” He straightened and cursed, crossed the room, leaving her in a cold void, wanting his warmth. “Apologies. I’m a nodcock.”
“You are,” she whispered. He wasn’t.
“We will slow down. We will even… we will wait. Until we are wed. Until you are ready. Until—”
“I catch my breath. Wait until I catch my breath, Samuel.” She followed him, stopping at his side to look out the window with him, latching on to his arm to feel him solid next to her. “That is all.”
He caught her lips in a kiss. “Whatever you desire, everything you desire, I will give it to you.”
